Whirlwind
by Ride4Ruin
Summary: A dead fic and good riddance. This is a case study in how not to write a fan fic, read it at your own peril.
1. The Calm

AN (11/12/08): This story is an old one, and by old I mean "hasn't been touched for over a year now." You'll find a few things to be odd, mainly because I started writing this well before any of the WotLK stuff was announced, before the Sunwell Plateau, etc. It was actually decently close to completion, but it's so terrible that I think I'll just let it die.

Seriously. It's that bad.

Chapter One: The Calm

"_It's the deep breath before the plunge." – Gandalf the White_

**Telredor, Zangarmarsh – 31 years after the Dark Portal first opened**

"You can't be serious!" Anchorite Ahuum stood as he spoke, shocked by the words of the Broken who sat across the table from him.

The face of Kurenai representative Ikuti remained impassive, though it was difficult to tell such things. Over the past 50 years, the demonic energies that permeated Outland had poisoned the Broken, twisting them into pale shadows of the proud Draenei they once were. Ahuum, however, had long since learned that while the Broken might appear hideous, they were still Draenei. Recent events, however, were beginning to call that into question.

"I am sorry, my friend, but these are desperate times." The aging shaman motioned to the map that lay spread out on the table between them. "With fresh troops and supplies pouring through the Dark Portal from Azeroth, the Mag'har have grown bold. Even with the aid of your Vindicators and Anchorites, we are slowly being pushed back. Soon Telaar itself will fall to the orcs and the Kurenai will be no more."

The Anchorite shook his head in frustration. "All this I know, but why him? The Nether-cursed cannot be trusted! How can Arechron justify so drastic a measure?"

Ikuti stood up and put his large, deformed hands on the table, meeting Ahuum's gaze with his own. "Markov is a skilled tactician and warrior with friends in places both high and low. He offered us his services and at this point we would be fools to decline."

His tone was cold, very much unbecoming the warm, welcoming sage that Ahuum had come to know, and he bore more resemblance to a cornered beast than a Draenei. The younger, uncorrupted Draenei had never seen this side of his friend, though he surmised that such an iron will had served the Broken well in this shattered realm.

"That may be true, but he still represents everything the Kurenai must not be if they have any hope of ever becoming part of Draenei society! He is as ruthless and bloodthirsty as any demon!"

Silence followed in the wake of his outburst, as Ikuti was both unable and unwilling to counter what they both knew to be true. Ahuum sighed and sat back down, collecting himself before speaking again.

"All I am saying is that this will… complicate relations between our people. Markov's vicious methods and open disdain for the Light are well known, and our more puritanical warriors will object to fighting alongside someone who wields as unholy a weapon as Voidwrath. Cooperation will be difficult with him in command of the Kurenai forces."

The shaman remained standing, looking down into his friend's eyes. "As I said, these are desperate times and the Kurenai have long since learned that if we wish to survive in this cursed land then we must be willing to make compromises with our own morality. There is no other way. Arechron knows what he is doing and though Markov may not be interested in the well being of the Kurenai, he can be trusted to fight the orcs. Of this we are certain."

Ahuum slowly shook his tentacled head. "This is a slippery slope, my friend."

With equal solemnity, Ikuti sat and turned his gaze away from him. "I know."

For a time neither spoke, and Ahuum wondered where this path would lead the Kurenai. Would Markov, one of the most despised of all Broken, lead the Kurenai to victory, or would he simply condemn them to rot for the rest of their days, as he had himself?

It was Ikuti who broke the silence. "I have been recalled."

The Anchorite looked up at him, startled. "What?"

"The Kurenai are abandoning Orebor Harborage. Markov's orders. Most of the others have already begun the journey. I came here to tell you, but now I must also be on my way. Future discussions will be conducted in Shattrath." Ikuti spoke with a quiet resignation, as if he found the order distasteful.

Ahuum was puzzled, and his confusion seeped into his voice. "But you yourself said that the road between Telaar and Shattrath was dangerous, that it was infested with Boulderfist Ogres and Lost Ones. That is why we had to use the Harborage in the first place."

Ikuti stood up and began walking toward the door. "Markov has assured us that he has a plan in place to deal with that." As he reached the doorway the Broken sage turned toward Ahuum. "In any case, I hope to see you again soon, my friend."

The latter stood and bowed to him. "As do I. May your days be long and your hardships few."

The shaman glumly nodded to his friend. "And yours." With those words Ikuti turned and departed, leaving the Draenei alone with his thoughts.

He sank back down into his chair and let his eyelids slide shut. When he spoke, it was to no one save posterity. "Nothing good can come of this."

**Garadar, Nagrand**

"You're getting slow, old man!"

Khazar simply chuckled in response and swung again, this time for Lorkhan's legs. He easily blocked the strike and countered, swinging the wooden training sword with all his might. The aging orc parried the attack, letting it slide harmlessly off to the side, and in a single, blindingly fast motion moved inside his pupil's reach and backhanded him in the face. As the young orc staggered back, his elder brought the training sword around and struck the back of his knees. He cried out in pain as his legs crumpled underneath him and he unceremoniously collapsed.

The older orc looked down triumphantly at the upstart warrior and flashed a wide, toothy grin. It was rare for an orc in Khazar's line of work to live as long as he had, let alone keep all of his teeth.

"Too slow, am I? You're one to talk. When you started that last swing I could have run off, lived another seventy years, come back and you still wouldn't have finished it!"

"One of these days Khazar…" Lorkhan struggled to regain his breath and silently marveled at the fact that his mentor had the lungpower to spout his usual taunts even after sparring. "One of these days I'm going to beat you."

A deep, resounding laugh echoed across the training ground in response. When Khazar managed to stifle his guffawing, he smiled. "You've been saying that for the last twenty years boy, since you could first talk. It hasn't happened yet and it certainly isn't going to if you keep fighting like that."

He offered his hand to Lorkhan, who accepted it and was hauled back to his feet. The two orcs stepped out of the training ring and walked along one of the winding dirt roads that crisscrossed Garadar. The roads had become increasingly crowded as of late, as fresh troops from the world of Azeroth arrived in Garadar on a daily basis. The young orc had never seen the far-off world, having lived amongst the Mag'har all his life, though the newcomers had told him strange accounts of the place.

Azeroth, the land of the humans, had always been like a fairytale world to Lorkhan. When he was growing up he would often hear stories of the wretched humans who had poured through the portal more than twenty years ago and brought war to the plains and seas of Draenor. Over twenty years since the sundering of the world and the ensuing carnage that claimed the lives of his parents. An infant in the shattered realm of Outland, Lorkhan would have perished had a wanderer named Khazar not found him. Seeing the old orc's grizzled face, balding head, and scraggly grey beard was one of his first, concrete memories.

Ever since then the other Mag'har had constantly reminded him that he was lucky that the eccentric old coot had been the one to find him. The young warrior was a Morg'al, a runt, and was smaller and wirier than most orcs. There was no doubt in his mind that if anyone but Khazar had found him he would have been left to rot.

Morale at Garadar was high, with new troops to bolster the defenses and enough supplies to keep them fed for years to come the Mag'har felt secure for the first time in decades. Rumors were even going around that their recent victory at Halaa was only the first of many and that the hated Draenei would soon be wiped out once and for all. He only hoped that the war didn't end before he had a chance to fight.

A light punch to the shoulder from Khazar jarred him from his thoughts. "Hey, boy, don't start daydreaming on me now, I've got something important to tell you."

The younger orc raised one of his ebon eyebrows. "What would that be?"

He could see that his mentor was trying to conceal a smile but was failing miserably. Khazar had never been able to remain serious for any length of time, despite the brutal nature of living in Outland, and it had made beating a little discipline into his pupil difficult. "Jorin Deadeye has instructed me to put together a battalion of fresh troops and march south to tighten the noose around Telaar." He placed a calloused hand on the smaller orc's shoulder. "I want you with me on this one."

For a moment Lorkhan could do nothing but stare at the ancient warrior in shock. He only tried to collect himself after Khazar began to laugh again and he realized that the expression on his face was probably the most amusing thing the old orc had seen in a long time. "Thank you, sir. I… I don't know what to say." He tried to remain as serious as possible, though it was difficult for him to contain his excitement.

The grizzled warrior's laughter faded into chuckling and eventually petered off completely. "Well, 'yes' would be a good start. Other than that you really don't have to say anything. I have to get the rest of the battalion together, but we will be meeting for a full briefing out in front of the east longhouse an hour after dusk." He smirked. "Until then, try not to embarrass yourself too much, boy."

Lorkhan bowed, trying to remain collected. Khazar's smirk relaxed into a more benign smile and he returned his bow before walking off down the road. The young warrior lasted about five seconds before he ran off cheering and cackling like a madman.

The hours passed swiftly, though for the young orc the coming battle still could not arrive quickly enough. The sun crept though the sky, as if trying to torture the eager warrior, until it finally settled below the horizon. The courtyard outside the eastern longhouse was filled with some of the largest, toughest looking orcs that Lorkhan had ever seen.

As he scanned the crowd an unusual sight caught his eye. Towering above the heads of the assembled orcs about fifty feet from him stood a massive tauren garbed in mail armor with a shield slung over his back and a viciously flanged mace hooked to his belt. His hide was a deep shade of brown, bordering on black, and from his head sprouted a pair of steel gray horns which curved forward before coming to a point. That was not, however, what struck Lorkhan as unusual. On one of the tauren's shoulders sat a Blood Elf woman in lightweight leather armor with hair that was only slightly lighter than that of the tauren's. On her back she wore a quiver and a bow that was as tall as she was and from her belt hung a pair of curved shortswords.

Lorkhan's gaze drifted off before it finally centered on Khazar. He stood on an elevated platform at the front of the crowd.

"Alright you maggots and peons, listen up. You have all been chosen for your skill and determination in battle, and the one ahead is likely to test both. As you all know, the Kurenai to the south have been a thorn in our side for some time." The wizened orc grinned. "After our victory at Halaa, Jorin Deadeye has decided to give us the honor of wiping them out for good."

A chorus of cheers rippled through the crowd, though Khazar quickly silenced it with a wave of one of his calloused hand.

"At first light tomorrow morning we will march south to the crossroads beyond the Ring of Trials. There, we will make camp, and await orders to move on Telaar itself. We have scouts positioned between the site and Telaar, so we will have some warning if the vermin decide to try anything stupid. Get your gear together and be at the east gate before dawn. Dismissed!"

Night descended on Garadar and a surreal calm took the place of spirited activity. For the first time in decades the Mag'har slept soundly.

All save one.

Lorkhan couldn't sleep. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't bring himself to lie still, not with his first battle just around the corner, and instead wandered the quiet roads of Garadar. The largest of Draenor's moons was only a thin curve in the sky, and would likely vanish completely by the next night. However, his eyes could make out, silhouetted against what remained of the moon, a shape sitting on one of the hills looking out across the land to the west of Garadar.

He slowly, almost unconsciously, began wandering toward the figure and as he approached it he discovered it was the tauren from earlier, sitting alone and smoking a large pipe. The young orc began walking toward him, wondering why he would be awake at this hour, but then saw the elf that had also been at the briefing silently walk up and sit down next to the massive bull. Lorkhan could not help but be curious as to who the two were and why they were there, but eventually decided that eavesdropping would be rude. He turned and meandered back to the barracks to try and get some sleep.

For a long time after Lorkhan had left, neither figure spoke. Eventually, the Blood Elf reached out and put her hand on the tauren's shoulder.

"Obereth?"

The tauren turned around, startled, but smiled when he saw the elf. "Oh, hello Rhana. I didn't hear you coming."

The elf smiled back. "You know, they never do." Rhana's smile slowly evaporated, leaving an expression of concern in its place. "Obereth, are you all right?"

The sides of his mouth slowly curled upward and he nodded his enormous head. "I'm fine it's just…" His voice trailed off, leaving his friend hanging.

"It's just what?"

Obereth's smile faded and turned back towards the sliver of the moon that remained. When he spoke again it was with an unnerving amount of trepidation for the wise old shaman.

"It's just I can't shake the feeling that something terrible is lying just around the corner."

**Somewhere south of Garadar, Nagrand – The next morning**

The column moved quickly down the road from Garadar and though the sun beat down relentlessly the Land of Winds was well named and the breeze kept the heat from becoming oppressive. Lorkhan, though no longer as excited as he had been the day before, was still eager and marched with to any career soldier would have seemed to be an excessive amount of spring in his step.

Obereth was curious about the young orc in front of him who seemed to march with such pride that he practically bounced with every step. The aging tauren chucked, causing Lorkhan to turn around, slightly puzzled.

"What?"

He tried and failed to wipe the smile off his face. "It's nothing, you just remind me of this time in Dustwallow when–"

Rhana, who walked along at his side, immediately and rather harshly cut him off. "No, Obereth. You are not telling him about that." The expression on her face was one of stern determination, though it was distinctly tainted by embarrassment.

He laughed again, amused by the elf's seriousness. "Oh come now, it's a good story."

Lorkhan was more than a little confused by the words of the two, though his curiosity overrode his bewilderment. "What happened?"

"You see?" The shaman idly waved an enormous brown hand in the orc's direction. "He wants to hear the rest and it would be terribly rude of me just to leave him hanging."

The elf's glowing green eyes shot Lorkhan an accusing glare before they swiveled back toward Obereth. "Well, if you're so concerned about being rude, you could at least have the decency to introduce yourself to him."

"Oh, forgive me." The tauren bowed his head to Lorkhan as they walked. "I am Obereth Steelhorns, Shaman of the Earthen Ring." He motioned to the indignant looking elf who merely nodded her head. "And this is Rhana Taltherion, Ranger of Silvermoon."

The orc nodded in return. "I am Lorkhan of the Mag'har." He fell into line alongside the massive shaman and looked up at him. "Now, as you were saying…"

**Clan Watch, Nagrand – That evening**

"So after we mopped the floor with the cult leader, we took a look around the room. The big stone doors on the far side were locked and there were these four braziers around the statue where the cultist was."

Obereth, who sat next to Rhana, groaned as the story went on, remembering what happened next.

She kept going, however, and her smile grew wider and wider as she told the story. "So Obereth thinks for a moment and decides 'hey, why don't we light all the braziers at once!' No sooner had we done that than the room was filled with crabs, makrura, these crazy snapping turtles, you name it. If a walking, talking kitchen sink had attacked us, I don't think I would have been very surprised."

Lorkhan and Rhana shared a laugh, though Obereth only to lightly chuckle, as if still a little embarrassed about the event.

The young orc leaned forward, looking expectantly across the campfire at the elf and tauren. "So? What happened next?"

The shaman opened his mouth, about to respond, but Rhana beat him to the punch. "Well I dropped to the ground immediately and played possum." She shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "I'm pretty good at it too. Obereth here, though, he started pummeling them with that mace of his and after a good five minutes of bashing, he's up to his neck in bodies." She turned to face him with a sly smile. "If memory serves you had to skewer the last one with those overgrown pokers."

The tauren grinned and shrugged as Rhana rapped her knuckles against one of his massive horns. "Hey, they don't call me 'Steelhorns' because I don't have horns of steel." The trio chuckled and, as the night wore on, shared many more stories and jokes.

After some time they were approached by Khazar, who bowed to them. "Alright Lorkhan, Obereth, Rhana, your watch is up. Go get some sleep, I'll take over from here." The three, still smiling, rose and bowed to him before departing to their tents.

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes alight with chilling flame watched them as they went. Their owner, a figure draped in shadows that it wore with the same familiarity that one might wear a favorite hat, sat staring at them from the edge of the camp and now slid closer to the tents were the battalion's warriors slept. Soon it was joined by many more, each skillfully maneuvering its way through the camp, closing in on their unsuspecting prey.


	2. The Storm

Chapter Two: The Storm

"_Come on you apes! You want to live forever?" – Lieutenant Rasczak_

**Clan Watch, Nagrand**

The camp was quiet. Most of the battalion's warriors were asleep in their tents, and the few that were awake were clustered around campfires and torches that dotted the camp like tiny islands of light in a vast ocean of darkness.

That darkness, however, held warriors of its own. Throughout the camp, figures moved silently through the night, darting from the shadows and into the tents of the Mag'har where each would stoop over a sleeping warrior and, placing a hideously mangled hand over the victim's mouth, slip a vicious blade between the warrior's ribs.

One such figure slid into a tent that held a lone occupant, a brown haired woman. As the shadow raised a long, curved dagger, ready to taste the blood of its defenseless victim, it felt a tap on its shoulder. Turning around, it came face to face with a very large, very angry tauren that brought a massive, flanged mace down on its face.

Obereth rushed to the elf's side and shook her awake as the would-be killer collapsed in a bloody heap. " Rhana! Rhana, wake up!"

Groggily rising from her sleep, she squinted up at him. "Obereth? Why are you–" Her words caught in her throat and her eyes shot open as she spotted the corpse on the ground. "What's going on here?!"

He handed the elf her bow, quiver, and swords then gestured to the bloodied body. "The camp is under attack. I saw at least a half dozen others out there before I followed this one in here. My guess is there are many more of them out there."

"Any idea how they snuck up on us like this?" she asked as she slung the quiver across her back.

"Not a clue." Obereth then turned and left the tent, bellowing, "We're under attack! To arms! To arms!"

Lorkhan was jarred awake by the sound of shouting and sat up, looking around the tent. It was relatively large compared to most of the others that the battalion had brought with them and held a half dozen others, all of whom remained motionless on their mats. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a figure stoop over one of the other warriors in the tent. He was about to ask the figure who it was when he saw it place a large hand over the mouth of the warrior it was kneeling beside and, in a single swift motion, drew a long knife and rammed it into the warrior's heart.

A chill shot down Lorkhan's spine and primal terror coursed through his body and limbs, rolling his stomach up into a tight ball. His hands scramble to find his sword, but he grasped at nothing but the cold earth. The shadow raised its head and stared back at him with icy blue eyes, its glare piercing his eyes, skull, and very soul. The orc froze in place, his body refused to move even as his mind wildly screamed orders, as the shadowy figure rose, brought up the knife it held, which still dripped with blood, and lunged.

As it glided through the air toward him, time seemed to slow to a crawl. His mind was in chaos as thoughts raced through his head and died before he could grasp at them. In the haze he wasn't even aware that his leg had already lashed out at the figure, his heel catching it squarely in the center of its face and sending it crashing to the ground next to him with a dull thud. The sound of the creature slamming into the group snapped the young warrior out of his mind numbing panic and as it righted itself and raised its knife to finish what it started, Lorkhan's hands shot from his sides to curl around the wrist of his attacker. The orc and the ice-eyed shadow struggled for the knife, each trying to bury it in the other.

The figure's hands were hideously deformed, some of its fingers seeming to have melded together, and massive knots had grown in the bone that broke the surface of its skin all across its limbs. No matter how hard he struggled or how hard a bashed the creature's hand against the ground he could not force the misshapen thing to release its hold on the knife.

Grabbing hold of the base of the knife's blade, Lorkhan levered both it and his enemy's hand to point at the shadowy figure's gut and then, gripping it by both the blade and the handle, rammed it forward with all his might. The creature let loose a hollow howl of pain as he drove the knife deep into it. The rush of the struggle quickly ebbed and a deafening silence descended on the tent. But as Lorkhan's focus faded, a gnarled hand shot to his throat and dragged him eye to eye with the shadow where, even in the dark, the warrior could see its face.

To say it was repulsive would have been a severe understatement. It's skull was a long, misshapen oval, most of which was taken up by its mouth that was little more than a massive opening in skin and bone lined with a wall of extremely long fangs. It did not have a nose, but rather a pair of holes set directly between its eyes. It had deeply sunken eyes, ice blue and feral, that showed no hint of fear, mercy, or sanity, only hatred.

The creature tilted its head back and whip it forward again, smashing its gnarled forehead into Lorkhan's face and in an instant the orc was sent staggering back, blood flowing freely from his nose. The monstrosity leapt at him, tackling him to the ground, one of its hands pinning him to the ground and trying to crush the life from his neck while it struck him across the jaw with the other, the jagged bone that stuck out of its skin tearing a long gash across his check. As its fist pulled back to strike him again, the young warrior gripped the handle of the knife, which still protruded from the creature's gut, and wrenched it to the side before ramming it even deeper into his attacker. It howled again and reeled backwards, letting go of Lorkhan, who lunged at and tackled the hideous creature, clenching his hands around its short, thick throat. The monster thrashed about, clawing his arms and face as it struggled to throw him off.

After what seemed like an eternity of painful and chaotic strikes the writhing creature began to slow. Its wild swings ebbed as the last vestiges of life were crushed from it before its arms finally stilled and silently dropped to its sides. It lay motionless for some time before Lorkhan was able to force his hands to relax their death grip on the creature and looked down into its eyes. The feral gleam that had rooted him to the ground was gone, replaced by a cold, empty gaze that sliced into his heart and sent shivers throughout his body.

He stared at the corpse, then down at his own hands. His skin from the elbows down had been stained black with blood, which still dripped from his fingers. The orc staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the tent exit but only made it a few feet before sinking to his knees and spilling the contents of his stomach out onto the ground. Lorkhan sat there, his head spinning, trying to understand what he had just done. He had just killed someone, with his bare hands no less. He had thought that his first battle would be glorious, but the act had been terrifying, disgusting even.

"Lorkhan! Lorkhan, are you alright?"

The voice seemed so distant, and yet familiar. He looked up and saw the grizzled face of Khazar, bending over to help him up.

"I know what you're going through boy." The older orc hauled his pupil to his feet and steadied him, then grabbed his head and looked him straight in the eyes. Khazar's voice was stern, yet strangely comforting. "The first kill is always the hardest and you certainly didn't get a gentle introduction, but we don't have time for this." His unblinking gaze remained fixed on the younger orc, who could feel his focus and energy slowly returning.

"I… I think I'll be alright." His head had stopped spinning and his vision had cleared. Khazar released him and he bent over to scoop up a sword that lay amongst the corpses, a massive falchion that felt at home in his hands.

Stepping out into the camp was like passing into another world. The air was thick with the smell of fresh blood and the night echoed with cries of war, the clanging of steel, and the screams of the dying. Parts of the camp were on fire, and the smoke carried with it the smell of burning flesh.

"What happened here?"

"The Draenei happened." The wizened warrior practically spat the name of the people that had been their foe for more than fifty years. "The vermin are swarming all over the camp. I've issued orders for a general retreat, we're falling back to the Ring of Trials to regroup."

As the two moved north through the camp, the sounds of battle began to fade, though not from distance. The battle was winding down, and from the sound of it the Mag'har had lost.

Khazar suddenly froze and held up a calloused fist.

A long silence followed the motion as the two orcs listened. "What is it?" Lorkhan's grip on his falchion tightened and his entire body tensed, his muscles coiling like springs. "More Draenei?"

The older warrior's eyes darted about, surveying the surrounding tents. "I don't kno– " A sudden movement in the shadows cast by the firelight caught his eye. "There!"

A pair of shadowy figures leapt out of the darkness at them. One glided silently through the air toward Khazar, who swiftly whipped an enormous zweihander from where it hung on his back. The aging veteran speared the thrashing ball of flesh, fangs, and knives on the oversized sword and lifted the mutated creature forward. With a mighty roar, the orc rammed the blade into the ground, pinning down his deranged opponent, and planted one of his booted feet on the Draenei's stunted neck. He pressed down and gave the foot a sharp twist. A sickening snap greeted him as the bones splintered and cracked under the weight. And final wave of spasms shot through the creature's limbs before it lay still and lifeless.

The second shadow lunged at Lorkhan, but the nimble orc darted out of the way and as the deformed Draenei sailed by the young warrior slammed the pommel of his sword down on the back of its head. The creature staggered forward, put off balance by the blow, but managed to maintain its footing. It planted one of the clawed and wrinkled masses that served as a foot and turned to face the orc. It dove toward him again, this time slamming into him shoulder first, and the two tumbled backward, sprawling down onto the ground.

The hideous creature was first to its feet and raised a viciously hooked and serrated knife above its head. As the blade sped downward toward Lorkhan, he rolled out of the way and swung his falchion wildly in his enemy's direction. The sword, however, bit into nothing but air as the shadowy figure leapt up and over the hurried swing and landed like a grotesque cat next to the young orc. It pinned him down with a mutated foot-like claw on his chest and again raised its knife to strike him. Before it could strike, however, the blade of a colossal sword slammed down into the base of its neck sending a short spurt of blood up from the spot were twisted flesh met cold steel. The creature froze for a moment and shivered before it collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

Khazar ripped his zweihander from the corpse and grabbed Lorkhan by the arm, hauling him to his feet. "Now let's get moving before more show up." They turned to continue through the camp, but stopped when they noticed movement ahead of them. They could see, silhouetted against the flames, two figures advancing toward them.

"Looks like I spoke to soon." Khazar's grip on his sword tightened, though as the figures approached Lorkhan could not help but smile. One was very large and hunched while the other was slim and agile.

"Obereth! Rhana!"

The two were beaten and bloodied, but otherwise fine, and Khazar bowed his head as they reached him. "It's good to see the two of you, did you find any others?"

The shaman shook his enormous head. "No, sir. From the looks of it, all friendlies have either fallen back or been killed and judging by the number of bodies a lot more did the latter."

"Damn, then we best get moving before we join them."

The four moved through the camp and out onto the field to the north, beyond which lay the Ring of Trials. They moved in nearly complete darkness, though Rhana began noticing something strange about the ground they were treading on. She held up a slender hand, signaling for the others to stop. Though they were more than a little confused, they did.

The elf knelt down and as she ran her fingers along the ground she could feel the impressions left by the many creatures that had passed through. One set of tracks, however, concerned her. They were large, humanoid tracks, and whatever had made them had been barefoot, though what worried her most was how recent they were, perhaps only a few minutes old.

"Oh no." She rose and turned to address the others. "Guys, there are some Ogres around here somewhere."

The three others seemed only to stare off into the distance and Khazar, without even glancing at her, responded. "Yes, we know."

"How could you possibly–" Her gaze drifted out into the darkness ahead of them and found what the others had been staring at. A half dozen pairs of eyes stared back at her, each of which stood more than ten feet above the ground.

"Oh."

Lorkhan readied his falchion. Rhana notched a lovingly crafted and viciously barded arrow, drew back the string and loosed it, sending it sailing off into the darkness. The line of Ogres surged toward them, though the farstrider's arrow caught one of them in the shoulder. The giant stumbled, grasping its shoulder in pain before a second arrow lodged itself in its chest and a third in its neck. It staggered forward, as if drunk, and came toppling down. Its huge body crashed down onto the field with a resounding thud, though the other Ogres paid their fallen comrade no heed.

An Ogre wielding a huge axe charged at Lorkhan, bellowing with rage as it barreled toward him. It brought the oversized cleaver down in a long arc from above and the smaller orc rolled to the side as the blade imbedded itself in the ground where he had been standing. Bringing his falchion around in a wide swing, he sliced deeply into the tree trunk sized legs. The brute let loose a roar of pain and swung at him with a massive arm, trying to swat him like a bothersome pest. He saw the swing coming and tried to back off but was too late. The strike caught him in the ribs and knocked him off his feet, sending him sailing through the air before he struck the ground.

The young warrior struggled to his feet. His chest screamed in pain and every breath he took was shallow and labored. The Ogre ripped its axe from the ground and rushed towards him, swinging it low and from the side. Lorkhan darted back as the blade sliced through the air where he had just been. It brought the axe around for another swing as it moved forward, but the orc was faster. Stepping inside the reach of the axe, his falchion sliced into the brute's stomach.

The Ogre lurched forward, off balance. Its wounded leg buckled underneath its weight and failed, bringing the giant down onto one knee. Lorkhan spun and his falchion cleaved into the beast's back. It turned and tried to swat him again, but the orc ducked the wild swing and brought the blade of his falchion down, burying it in the Ogre's neck. It let out a low whimper that was slowly replaced by a bloody gurgle before finally collapsing.

Lorkhan pulled his bloody falchion from the corpse and turned to face the others just in time to witness Khazar climb one of the Ogres. It thrashed about, trying to throw the old orc off its back. The grizzled warrior's grip on it remained firm and he clawed his way up the mountain of flesh and muscle before ramming his zweihander down the struggling giant's throat. It staggered from side to side before crashing down onto the field. Obereth had already felled another Ogre and caught the orc as he tumbled off the falling corpse. He quickly set his superior down, who casually walked over and ripped his sword from the lifeless opponent's head.

The old orc glared off into the darkness. "Looks like there are two left, they hung back when the others charged."

Rhana squinted at the four eyes that gleamed in the darkness. "It's not two."

"What?" The statement confused Lorkhan, he could clearly see two pairs of eyes staring back at him through the darkness.

She notched another arrow. "There's only one Ogre, it just has two heads."

Khazar's face twisted into a mask of rage and his grasp on his sword tightened. "Quickly, take it down before it can cast!" the orc hollered as he surged forward.

Rhana loosed the arrow at the eyes. The oaken shaft glided through the night directly toward them, but before it could reach them a brilliant flash of blue flame consumed and disintegrated it. In an instant the flames subsided, but before they could, Lorkhan caught a glimpse of the figure they had protected. It was an Ogre like the ones that had charged in and died while it had watched, but its skin was a sickly blue shade with a latticework of black runes across its body and, as Rhana had said, it had two heads sitting on its shoulders.

He gripped his falchion and broke into a run, following Khazar's lead. As he bore down on the Ogre, he could see it even through the inky blackness. The older orc was about to swing his zweihander at it when both its heads grinned and it leisurely raised one of its arms. In its open palm a ball of light, brighter than the sun, formed. The light spread and consumed the young warrior's vision, washing over him and overwhelming his senses. The light carried with it a deafening ring, which he thought was going to split his head open. Pain flooded every facet of his body and his mind struggled to comprehend the experience before it simply shut down, overloaded by input. Darkness rushed in to fill its place and Lorkhan collapsed.


	3. Red Dawn

Chapter Three: Red Dawn

"_Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered, a sword day, a red day, 'ere the sun rises!" – King Théoden_

**For a time he knew only darkness**

A throbbing pain in his temples greeted Lorkhan as his mind groggily crawled back into his head. His vision was blurred and the ringing in his ears remained. His nose, however, told him all he needed to know. The scent of burning meat hung in the air, tainted by the stench of fresh blood. He was back in the camp.

He tried to bring a hand up to massage his aching head, but found his arms bound tightly behind his back by cords of heavy rope. He tried to stand, but discovered that his legs were similarly bound.

"Don't try to struggle, the guards will notice."

The young orc could barely hear the words over the ringing and turned to see who spoke them. Though his vision was still blurry, he could make out through the haze the grizzled face of Khazar.

"Uugh… What happened?"

"The Ogre Mage managed to cast before I could get to it and the thing probably dragged us back here."

The ringing in Lorkhan's ears began to fade and was quickly replaced by the hungry crackling of open flames. He tugged at his bonds again, but they held fast.

"Don't bother." The voice came from behind Khazar. The younger warrior squinted his eyes and, despite his blurred vision, could see a large, hunched shape sitting along side them. "I have been trying for a while and, no offense, if I can't break them you most definitely cannot."

His vision gradually began to clear. Obereth sat behind Khazar and Rhana behind him. The four of them were in a clearing in the camp, most of which still stood though parts were on fire. By the firelight Lorkhan could see two others standing nearby. They had massive, deformed hands and cloven hooves, though the wrinkled skin on their legs had crept down and slowly reclaimed the area around them. Their skin was stretched tight across their noseless faces and fleshy tendrils hung down from their chins and cheeks.

Broken.

The two wore only light armor, toughened hides mostly, and each wielded a two-handed sword. Both wore over their armor the crimson tabard of the Kurenai.

Lorkhan leaned over to Khazar before speaking in a low whisper. "I thought we had scouts between here and Telaar. How did the Kurenai sneak up on us?"

The older orc shook his head. "They didn't. While the Draenei guarding us now may be Kurenai, the ones that snuck into the camp were not. They were Lost Ones, probably from Windyreed to the northeast." He hung his head, his expression one of frustration and shame. "We didn't have scouts out in that direction so they just waltzed into the camp and started killing. My guess is that the Kurenai didn't move in until well after the fighting started."

"What about the Ogres?" Lorkhan asked, "Why would they bring us back to the camp and hand us over to the Kurenai?"

Khazar's face betrayed a concern and trepidation that he had never seen in the usually confident orc. "That's what has me worried. Those Ogres bore the markings of the Boulderfist. If both they and the Lost Ones have both sided with the Kurenai then together they are one of the greatest threats that the Mag'har have ever faced." He paused, as if aware that his concern was showing, and when he spoke again it was with his more typical composure. "We must return to Garadar and warn Deadeye and the Greatmother or a slaughter like this could happen again."

Obereth leaned forward to whisper to the two of them. "Easier said than done." He jerked his massive head to indicate his bound hands. "Unless we come up with something we aren't going anywhere."

Rhana, however, was looking off into the darkness. "Shhh. I can hear other Broken." She nodded in the direction that she was gazing. "There, deeper into the camp."

Far in the distance, silhouetted against the flames, were a number of figures and though Lorkhan was unable to discern anymore than that, the night held no secrets from Rhana's elven eyes and ears. Two of the figures were large and muscular Broken, similar in appearance and equipment to the ones that guarded them.

A tall, blue skinned man in shinning plate armor stood with them. His cloven hooves were similar to those next to him and he too had tendrils that hung from his face, though he seemed far less deformed. He carried slung over his back a massive hammer and a large tome hung from his armor, attached by a heavy metal chain. The fourth figure was a Broken like the first two but was otherwise significantly different from the first two. Though in appearance he was similar to any other Broken, this one carried himself with an air of confidence and moved with a freakish smoothness that reminded Rhana of a snake. From his back hung a long, elegantly curved sword.

A fifth figure came into view as it approached the other four. It was a large Ogre that Rhana recognized as the mage that had fought them in the darkness as they had attempt to fall back to the Ring of Trials. The serpentine Broken bowed to it as it approached and the Ogre bowed its heads in return.

The elf strained to hear them over the crackling of the flames. The Broken spoke in a voice that was soft and honeyed, though it contained a subtle force and edge to it. It was the voice of someone who had long since learned how to tell someone exactly what they wanted to hear and yet could speak only the most malicious lies.

"Ah, Rhoon'mok, my friend. It is good to see you."

The Ogre Mage grinned, greeting the sinister Broken as if he were an old friend. "Chieftain Lantrestor sends his compliments and regrets having been unable to come himself."

"No matter, any aid that Lantrestor can provide is welcome."

The Ogre's smile faded and its expression became an impassive one. It was a very businesslike veneer, as if all the death and destruction it dealt were merely the latest in a long line of transactions. "On another note, I managed to capture four stragglers who were trying to flee to the Ring of Trials." He waved a fat, blue hand in Rhana's direction. "They are being held over in the central clearing. What shall we do with them?"

The Broken looked confused by the question, but not because he didn't know the answer. Rather, his expression of confusion seemed to stem from the belief that the Ogre already knew it. He spoke two words as if they were obvious.

"Kill them."

The armored Draenei was shocked, and vehemently objected. "Wait, you can't be serious! Kill unarmed and defenseless prisoners? That's monstrous! It is an affront to the Light and I cannot condone it." The Kurenai guards who stood with him also shifted uneasily, as if slightly disturbed by the orders that the honeyed voice had given.

The serpentine Broken quickly rounded on him. "Every moment those prisoners remain alive increases the likelihood that one will escape and warn the rest of their kind. If that happens then we will be unable to win a victory like this again." The honey had drained out of the mutated creature's voice, leaving only contempt and malice in its wake. "The plan depended on there being no witnesses. They must all die!"

Rhana turned to the others, trying and failing to hide the fear that gripped her. "They're going to execute us. We need to get out of here. Now."

Obereth and Khazar shifted to face each other. "Well, unless you have any better ideas 'Steelhorns,' I suggest you earn that name of yours." He turned his back toward the aging shaman and held out his bound hands.

"Fine, but I would like to say in advance; this was your idea and it's not my fault if your wrists get slit." With those words, the tauren leaned forward and began cutting away Khazar's bonds with his horns. The tips of Obereth's horns were surprisingly sharp and he quickly sliced through the ropes around the grizzled orc's hands. With his hands free, the warrior quickly undid the coils around his legs.

The Broken guards did not seem to notice the actions of their prisoners. Khazar, free of the ropes that had bound him, sprang to his feet and rushed at them. One of the Broken saw him coming and tried to bring its sword around to strike at him, but the old orc was too fast. His elbow shot forward and struck the its throat, sending the guard staggering back, its free hand grasping its neck as it gasped for air. The aged warrior stepped forward and gripped the wrist of the hand that held its sword. In a single, swift motion, he wrenched the Broken's arm to the side, bending it in a way that Lorkhan was sure that it was not designed to. The sword that the guard wielded slipped from its grip as the creature cried out in pain. Khazar snatched the blade before it had fallen more than a foot and rammed it through his opponent's stomach.

By this time the other Kurenai guard had noticed and lunged toward the wizened warrior. He swung around and blocked the Broken's strike with the body of its comrade, who was still impaled on his sword. He planted one of his feet on the corpse and kicked it off the blade and into the remaining guard. The Broken pushed its fallen compatriot out of the way, only to be met by Khazar's sword, which buried itself in the base of its neck. Spasms shot through its fingers as they slowly rose and curled around the blade before it collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

The old orc scooped up the second sword and walked over to the others. The blade made quick work of the ropes around Obereth's hands, who raised one of them and held it over the ropes that bound his legs. The air around them rippled and distorted and in an instant his bonds had frozen solid. A quick strike from the shaman's clenched fist shattered the ice and he stood. Khazar walked over to Lorkhan and cut the younger orc's bonds while Obereth held out his hands and bolts of lightning sprung from them, incinerating the ropes around Rhana's arms and legs.

Khazar helped Lorkhan to his feet and handed him the second sword. "Now I believe it is high time we left."

Rhana pointed deeper into the camp. "Problem boss, we've got incoming."

"How many?"

She squinted her eyes, peering off into the distance. Silhouetted against the flames was a single figure, a Broken who moved with unearthly grace. "From the looks of it there's only one. He's the one who ordered us killed and is probably the one in charge here."

As the figure approached Rhana began to notice more minute details. The Broken wore a patch over his right eye, and had drawn the long, curved sword that he carried. The blade itself was pitch black and seemed to draw in and absorb ambient light. Wisps of smoke rolled off the sword as it sliced through the air and it carried with it a palpable aura of dread.

"He's not Kurenai, his weapon is too high quality to be one of their usual steal-me-downs. He wears an eye patch and his sword seems to devour light."

"A sword that…" Khazar's eyes widened, the color drained out of his face, and for the first time in Lorkhan's life the old orc looked terrified. "Oh no…"

The younger warrior was more than a little disturbed by this. He knew that whatever could frighten his normally confident mentor would be truly terrible to behold. "What is it?"

"There's no time to explain! Run!"

Khazar immediately broke into a run, heading for the edge of the camp. Obereth, Rhana, and Lorkhan took a moment to process what their superior had said and done before sprinting after him. The four ran as fast as their legs could carry them, but every time they looked back they saw their pursuer. The Broken who followed them calmly strolled along at a leisurely pace, yet was gaining on them at an alarming rate all the same.

By the time they reached the edge of the camp, the Broken was almost on top of them. Khazar tightened his grip on his sword, stopped, and turned to face their pursuer.

Lorkhan stopped, bewildered by his mentor's actions. "Khazar, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he snapped back. "We can't all out run that thing, I'll buy you the time you need to get out of here."

"Are you insane?" The smaller orc took a few steps forward, vehemently protesting his mentor's words. "I'm not about to leave you to die just so–"

Khazar grabbed him by the collar and dragged him face to face with the old orc. In his eyes was a look of primal rage tainted by sheer terror, something that looked distinctively out of place on the hardened veteran's face. "For once in your life, boy, do as you are told! Just shut up and let me save your hide! Now go!"

He tossed the younger warrior aside just in time to see the Broken leaping at him, its black sword gliding down through the air toward his head. The grizzled warrior brought up his own sword and deflected the blow off to the side, but the Broken quickly followed up the strike with a long chain of fast slashes each of which led into the next long before he could counter them. Lorkhan backed off and paused for a moment, startled by Khazar's outburst, before reluctantly turning and sprinting off into the night to joining Obereth and Rhana.

Khazar allowed himself a smile as he saw Lorkhan disappear off into the distance out of the corner of his eye. He squared off against his hideous opponent, who began circling him, examining him like an experiment. "It's just you and me now Markov."

The Broken general smirked in response. "Then you had better get some help Khazar."

Markov brought his sword up and then down toward Khazar in an arcing motion as he almost skimmed across the ground. The orc blocked the strike head on and attempted to push him back, but the Broken slipped by him and the black blade opened up a gash in his left shoulder. The Nether-cursed seemed almost to hover across the grass as he slid past him and spun to face his wounded opponent.

The grizzled old warrior surged forward, bringing his sword around in a wide, sweeping arc. Markov ducked the strike and flashed a smug grin as Khazar brought his sword around behind his back and then down from above. Still smiling, the Broken did not merely dodge the swing; he seemed to flow out of the way of the sword as it buried itself in the grassy field.

With unnatural speed, he stepped forward and struck Khazar's chest with the heel of his left palm. The strike knocked the wind out of the orc and sending him staggering back, losing his grip on the sword that remained wedged into the ground. The Nether-cursed dropped down to a crouch and swept one of his legs across the ground. The Broken's mutated hoof knocked Khazar off his feet and he fell flat on his back, staring up at the night sky. The first slivers of light were creeping in from below the horizon, coloring the sky a pale orange.

The aging orc, however, could not process this, as he frantically rolled out of the way of the black blade that rammed into the ground where he had landed. He lashed out with one of his legs, catching his opponent squarely in the chest and as the Broken general stumbled back he leapt to his feet and snatched up his sword. The two squared off again, though this time the match up seemed far less even. Khazar was panting, sweating, and bleeding, while Markov remained unfazed and still wore a grin on his face.

"Quit toying with me you deformed freak!" Frustration and hatred dripped from every word of the demand.

The Nether-cursed's calm and confident veneer remained unchanged. "I guess you're right, Anya always did tell me not to play with my food." While Khazar's words had been ones of fury, his were composed of pure spite.

"Well then, I'm glad we killed her along with the rest of your pathetic race!"

Markov's burning blue eye widened and his face contorted into a mask of rage. The Broken let loose a roar that was more terrifying than that of any beast, demon, or orc and lunged at the defiant warrior. Lorkhan heard a howl from the camp and turned to see a blindingly fast shape surge toward Khazar and lock blades with the old orc before forcing the latter's sword down into the dirt. In a single, swift motion, the Broken brought one of its hoofed feet down on the claymore and snapped the steel weapon like a twig. Lorkhan gaped at the impossible feat of strength and watched in horror as the Broken stepped forward, lifted Khazar off the ground by his throat and rammed its sword clean through his chest.

A sharp yank from Markov ripped the black blade from the veteran's torso and he released him, leaving the orc to stagger back as he tried to maintain his footing. The Broken general slowly circled around his latest victim, who was still struggling to remain standing. A swift kick to the calves caused the warrior's legs to crumple beneath him and the once proud orc fell to his knees. By the first light of a new day, Lorkhan saw the Broken raise his sword and behead Khazar.


	4. The Devil You Know

Chapter Four: The Devil You Know

"_The Devil tips his hat to me. I do it all because I'm evil and I do it all for free, your tears are all the pay I'll ever need." – Aurelio Voltaire Hernández_

**Garadar, Nagrand**

It was mid afternoon by the time Lorkhan, Obereth, and Rhana reached Garadar. Obereth and Rhana were exhausted to the point of collapsing, though if Lorkhan was tired, he didn't show it. The young orc had been silent during the long march home.

A burly sentry at the gate stopped the trio. "Halt! Identify yourselves."

"I am Lorkhan, warrior of the Mag'har, and I bring news of the utmost importance from Khazar's battalion. I must speak with Chieftain Garrosh."

The larger orc glared down his nose at the seemingly impudent upstart. "The Chieftain is currently meeting with the Council of Elders and cannot be disturbed." He waved a calloused hand dismissively in the smaller orc's direction, as if to shoo away a pesky child.

"You don't understand!" Though Lorkhan was not as large or as tall as the sentry, he smoldered with rage and it didn't take an expert observer to see that he was not one to be trifled with. "The news I bring is vital to the survival of the Mag'har, so unless you wish to be responsible for the annihilation of our entire race I suggest you let me pass!"

The guard considered this for a moment before stepping out of the smaller orc's way. Obereth and Rhana hurried after their fuming friend as he strode through Garadar toward the council chambers at the center of the town. Lorkhan pushed open the doors that led to the assembly hall. The room was large and circular with observation stands that lined the walls and a half-circle of a dozen orcs seated in the center. Before the elders and the Greatmother stood Chieftain Garrosh Hellscream, a large and powerfully built orc if ever there was one.

Lorkhan bowed to those assembled. "Elders, Chieftain, Greatmother, I apologize for interrupting but I bring grave tidings."

An orc who wore a patch over his left eye and sat next to Greatmother Geyah rose and returned his bow. "Your apology is unnecessary." He turned to Garrosh and smirked. "The good Chieftain did not have anything important to say anyway." The massive orc in question balled his hands into fists and clenched his teeth, shaking with rage. The one-eyed orc who had insulted him merely smiled back at him and mockingly saluted.

"Jorin." The Greatmother spoke his name in a stern tone, warning him to go no further.

"Forgive me Greatmother." From his tone it was obvious that Jorin Deadeye was entirely unapologetic. Though Garrosh officially commanded the warriors of the Mag'har, even Lorkhan knew that Deadeye was the de facto leader. He, unlike the chieftain, had a reputation of competence and commanded the loyalty of many of the Mag'har, including Khazar. He sat back down with the rest of the elders and gazed, still smiling, at the younger orc. "What word do you bring?"

"I bring news from Khazar's battalion to the south."

Garrosh glared at Lorkhan. "What does that old coot want now?"

He paused and swallowed hard before speaking again. "Khazar is dead."

Worried mutterings rippled through the Council of Elders. "What? Then who commands his battalion?"

"We are all that is left of his battalion."

Garrosh's face was unmoved. His eyes remained fixed on the smaller orc and his voice was cold almost to the point of being threatening. "Are you telling me that nearly a thousand warriors, experienced veterans all, were slaughtered in a single night by an enemy we had backed into a corner?"

"Yes, but the Kurenai are far from cornered." Lorkhan met his gaze head on, trying to mask the anxiety he felt under the harsh scrutiny of the son of Hellscream. "They have rallied to their banner Lost Ones from the High Path and Boulderfist Ogres from the southern ruins. Their forces struck in the night and killed many of us while we slept. Those who survived the first slaughter were quickly surrounded and overwhelmed."

The massive chieftain tilted his head to the side and his features inexplicably softened. "And what of you?"

"Chieftain?" Lorkhan was confused by the Garrosh's tone. It was calm and controlled, very much unlike the normally brash Chieftain.

Garrosh's features hardened again and his tone quickly became outright hostile. "When in all of this did you choose to turn tail and run?"

"Chieftain, I–" He realized too late where the larger orc was going with the line of questions.

"Be silent! You dare to defile this scared chamber with your filthy footsteps only a matter of hours after you fled from battle?"

The younger warrior opened his mouth to object, but quickly closed it again. He hung his head as he realized that Garrosh was right, he had run from his first battle. Lorkhan's thoughts turned to his first kill and the fear that had gripped him. The blood from that fight was still caked on his hands. He had been terrified of a lone enemy and that terror had paralyzed and almost killed him. That was not the behavior of a Mag'har warrior, he realized, it was the behavior of a coward.

Rhana stepped forward, desperate to try and defend her friend. "With all due respect Chieftain, he didn't–"

Garrosh cut her off with unmitigated venom. "You should know not to interrupt your betters wench. But then again I shouldn't have expected an mere elf to understand honor the way an orc does." He motioned to the distraught young orc. "Look at him. See how he hangs his head in shame? He understands that he has no right to walk amongst the living, let alone the Mag'har!"

"That is enough!" Greatmother Geyah's voice was firm and commanding. It echoed throughout the chamber despite being relatively soft and every orc in the room seemed to shudder as she spoke.

The chieftain was taken aback by the sudden reprimand. The mighty orc stuttered as he attempted to respond to the old woman. "But Greatmother, he–"

"You have said quite enough Garrosh. Sit. Now."

The tone of the Greatmother's voice could grind a warrior's soul into dust and her glare could light a man on fire. Even Garrosh had no choice but to obey and he walked to the observation stands and sat, brooding. She turned to Lorkhan and in an instant her face softened into a warm, motherly smile that could comfort even the most frightened child. Her voice was soft and gentle as she spoke. "Lorkhan, you were right to return to bring us word that the Lost Ones and Boulderfist have sided with the Kurenai. I know that you feel that you abandoned your comrades, but I can see that your soul is not one of a coward. Go now, rest. We will deal with this development."

Lorkhan began to turn, eager to leave the council chambers, but stopped. "Greatmother, there is one more thing that I must tell you."

She nodded encouragingly to him. "Please, do so."

"The one who led the Kurenai forces was not one of them. He was a Broken who wore an eye patch and wielded a sword that devoured light."

The mutterings that had greeted the news of Khazar's death paled in comparison to the shock that rocked the Council of Elders. One of the elders shot to his feet. "Impossible! The Nether-cursed has been dead for months!"

Jorin Deadeye turned and glared at the elder. "Did you see the body?"

"What?" The elder looked confused by the question, he looked to the other elders for an explanation, but they were equally confused.

The one-eyed orc's gaze remained locked on the standing elder. "Did you see Markov's corpse?"

"No, but–"

"Then he's not dead!" Jorin's voice was cold and frustrated. "Markov has cheated death on numerous occasions, there is no reason to believe he has not yet again." He turned to look at Lorkhan. "I thank you for telling us this, but you must rest. We may have need of your services very soon."

The young warrior bowed to Jorin and Geyah before turning and quickly walking out of the council chambers. Rhana and Obereth each bowed, the former more uncomfortably than the latter, and hurried after him.

"Lorkhan," Rhana said as she caught up to him, "you shouldn't let Garrosh get to you."

"Save it."

She paused, taken aback. The orc hadn't even looked at her. "I just think that–"

"I said shut up!"

She froze, shocked by her friend, who quickly skulked off into the distance. Obereth walked up next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. The farstrider scowled, more than a little hurt by the outburst. "Well if he doesn't want our help I say we should leave him to rot."

"He needs us. Whether he knows it or not, he needs us."

She turned to look up at the tauren. "How can you be so sure?" Obereth simply looked back down at her and she could see in his eyes the calm that seemed to always radiate from him. However, she could also see, underneath the calm, the pain that had been there every moment of every day that she had known him. She hung her head, to ashamed to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"It's alright. Let's just find Lorkhan."

They found Lorkhan on ridge on the southwestern edge of Garadar looking out across Nagrand. It was the same place that Obereth had sat two nights ago. To Rhana it seemed like an eternity. Once again, she was the first to the warrior's side and sat down next to him as she had with the massive shaman.

"Lorkhan?"

"He's right, you know. Garrosh. I am a coward."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Garrosh was only lashing out at you because Deadeye humiliated him. He wasn't able to bite back so he heaped all his rage on you. Khazar ordered you to run, he had to do it twice because you wanted to stay."

Lorkhan was unfazed by her words, and continued to stare off into the distance. A long time passed before he spoke, and when he did he was calm and quiet. "It's not that."

The elf threw up her hands in frustration. "Then what are you moping about?"

"When the battle started I fought hand to hand with a Lost One. It was terrifying, I have never been so afraid in my life. I almost died, paralyzed with fear. Khazar found me afterwards in a sorry state. He saw that I couldn't handle it, that's why he ordered me to run." The young warrior hung his head, a despondent look worn prominently on his face. "He had trusted me and I had let him down. He died ashamed of me, of how weak I was."

His somber statement left Rhana at a loss for words. "Lorkhan…"

Obereth quickly stepped in as the elf struggled to think of what to say. "Lorkhan, you feel that you failed Khazar and that he died hating you. I know what it's like, I know that you–"

Lorkhan's head whipped around to face the shaman. "How could you possibly know what I'm going through?" His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. "How could an overgrown cow like you possibly understand the pain of my failure?"

An enormous hand shot forward and curled around the young orc's neck. With little effort the tauren lifted him off his feet and held him eye to eye. For a moment Lorkhan saw in Obereth's face pure rage, a feral wrath beyond madness. The expression shocked the warrior. In that instant he could have sworn that Obereth's eyes were the ice blue eyes of the Lost One from the previous night and at last he realized what he had fought. They were the eyes of someone who had loved and lost.

The massive hand released Lorkhan and he landed on the ground with an unceremonious thud. When he looked back up at the tauren, the rage had vanished from his face, replaced by the calm, gentle smile that Obereth seemed to always wear. "And now you lash out at me. It's like what Rhana said about Garrosh. The one who you hate for killing Khazar is beyond your reach so you heaped the blame and the hate it carried with it onto yourself. Now, even though we are trying to help you, you heap that hate onto us. But blaming yourself, or Rhana, or me won't help. It won't bring Khazar back and it is not going to change what he might or might not have felt when he died. If you want to do some good, if you want to make Khazar's death meaningful, you are going to have to accept that what happened, happened and couldn't have happened any other way."

The two stared at each other in silence. It wasn't until Rhana's distant voice snapped them out did they realize that she was no longer with them. "Not to interrupt this little chat, but there's something here that you two need to see." Obereth and Lorkhan looked down the ridgeline, which dropped down out of Garadar, to where Rhana knelt over something at the base of the ridge.

They slid down the ridge after her and Lorkhan kneeled next to her. Before him was a series of large impressions in the dirt.

"What are they?" he asked her.

"Tracks. Recent ones too, probably less than an hour old." She ran her slender fingers along the imprints. "Three Ogres… and a Broken."

Lorkhan immediately stood. "Markov."

Rhana turned and looked up at him. "We don't know that. These tracks head off to the Laughing Skull ruins. We should tell Deadeye and get the garrison to handle this." Though her face remained impassive, when she spoke it became obvious by the tone of her voice that she was trying to calm him down.

The young warrior would have none of it. "No. Get some gear together and meet me at the west gate in five minutes."

Obereth looked and sounded concerned. "What are you planning?"

Lorkhan merely smiled back at him. "Nothing. Just in the mood for a little hunting, that's all."

**Somewhere north of Garadar, Nagrand – Later that day**

"Rhana?"

"Yes?"

"You know Obereth pretty well, I assume."

Rhana looked up from the tracks that ran toward the Laughing Skull ruins and got to her feet. Lorkhan stood beside her and the two began walking together. The aging shaman in question was roughly twenty yards behind them, focusing intently on the ground in front of him as he walked.

"I like to think I know him as well as he does. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that back in Garadar, when I lashed out at him, Obereth was enraged for a split second before he spoke."

"Well, you did call him an overgrown cow."

"That wasn't what made him angry, and besides Obereth doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would let petty insults get to him. It was what I said after that, about not understanding what I felt, that drove him insane. Why was that?"

"He– I can't say."

"Why not?"

"It's something that he has to tell you himself, when he's good and ready. But I will say this, what you saw in Garadar was a glimpse of what Obereth had been suppressing since before I met him. The calm, welcoming Obereth is a shell, a façade that he built for himself to hide away his true feelings."

"That can't be healthy."

She sighed and hung her head. "No, I suppose not."

"Now if the two of you are done trying to psychoanalyze me, we have company." Rhana and Lorkhan almost jumped. Obereth had not made a sound as he walked up behind him. He pointed over their heads off into the distance.

Ahead of them stood the Laughing Skull ruins, the remnant of a now dead clan and currently a bastion of the Warmaul Ogres. Off in the distance Lorkhan could see four shapes. Two were tall, large, and carried huge packs on their backs. Another was tall and large like the first two but its skin was blue and black. The fourth was smaller and skulked about simply watching the others. As they drew closer he could see that the two with the large packs were Ogres who were taking corpses and placing them on the ground. The third, blue skinned one was also an Ogre, but had two heads. The final figure was a Broken who moved with serpentine grace and from his back hung a long, curving sword.

"It's him." Lorkhan's pace quickened as he approached them. He grasped and drew the zweihander that he had taken from the Garadar armory as he rushed toward his target.

Rhana reached after him as he dashed forward, trying to stop him. "No, Lorkhan wait!"

The warrior paid her no heed. He would finally be able to prove himself. He would do Khazar proud.

He stopped as he reached the ruins. "Markov! Murdering bastard! You'll pay for what you've done!"

The Broken general cocked his head quizzically as he examined the orc who had challenged him. He idly wave a hand in the direction of the blue skinned Ogre at his side. "Ignore them, continue planting the bodies and prepare our exit. I'll deal with these three." Both the Ogre's heads nodded and Markov turned back toward Lorkhan. He calmly began walking toward the young warrior and a smug smile crossed his face. "I'm sorry, I've killed a lot of people. You're going to have to be more specific."

Lorkhan couldn't believe it. Markov was casual, arrogant, and he had the gall to mock him without even drawing his sword. The orc howled with rage and surged toward the Broken. He raised the zweihander and brought it down toward the Nether-cursed with all his might.

As the blade arced through the air, time itself seemed to slow. Markov raised his right hand, a gnarled and mutated thing, and placed it on the side of the blade that now appeared to crawl toward him. The Broken's smile grew wider and he nudged the sword. The zweihander angled off to the side and buried itself in the ground next to his deformed hooves.

Lorkhan gaped at the move, like what he had seen at Clan Watch it simply shouldn't have been possible. He didn't have very long to think about it as an open hand shot forward and struck the center of his chest. Air rushed from his lungs as he reeled back, losing his grip on the sword, which remained stuck in the dirt. It felt as if a massive maul had smashed open his ribcage. As the warrior stumbled back, Markov's left hand curled around one of the young orc's wrists and yanked him back toward the Broken, who held out his elbow. Lorkhan's nose and the arm collided with a sickening crack and blood spurted from the crushed nose.

He would have fallen over backwards had the elbow to the face not immediately been followed up with a swift backhand that sent him staggering off to the side where a hooved foot was waiting in his path and hooked his feet out from under him. The orc crashed to the ground face first and a hoof swung down and rammed his gut into the dirt. Lorkhan tried to haul himself back onto his feet but every part of his body screamed in objection. Spasms shot up his spine and into his skull where they clattered around before bursting in a mind-numbing explosion of agony.

Rhana barely had time to swing her bow off her back and notch an arrow before Lorkhan hit the ground. Markov had beaten him savagely in a matter of seconds without so much as drawing his sword. She loosed the arrow at the Broken general, and it would have struck him between the eyes had he been any normal enemy.

He wasn't.

Markov leisurely plucked the arrow out of the air as it sailed toward him, twirled it around one of his freakishly deformed fingers, and threw it right back at the elf. The arrow caught her low in the left shoulder and punched through her shoulder blade like wet paper.

As Rhana fell backward, she saw Obereth charge past her, the massive flanged mace that he had chosen to replace the one he had lost at Clan Watch raised high in the air. Markov stepped over Lorkhan and strolled toward the oncoming tauren. He swung his mace down over his head toward Markov, who casually stepped out of the way of the strike and leapt into the air smashing one of his hooves into the shaman's jaw. Obereth stumbled forward and as the Broken sailed over him, he planted one of his hooves on the shaman's head and launched it down into the ground. The aging tauren struck the dirt and skidded to a halt while the hideous general landed softly several feet beyond him and calmly stood.

He turned to face his fallen opponent just in time for Lorkhan's fist to collide with his misshapen jaw.

Markov took a few steps back, rubbing his jaw. Lorkhan walked over to his zweihander and yanked it from the ground. He turned to the Broken and readied the sword, gripping it tightly.

The Nether-cursed smiled as he watched the young orc. "Well, well. Persistent buffoon." His hand crept up to the handle of his sword, which he drew from its sheath. The black blade flared to life and eagerly devoured the light around it, frothing wisps of dark smoke. "You'll live just long enough to regret that."

He lunged at Lorkhan, the air around his sword shimmering and distorting as it arced just above the grass. The younger warrior saw the strike coming, blocked it, and pushed back against it, hoping to throw the Broken off balance. The result was the exact opposite. Markov gracefully stepped off line with him and let their respective momentums carry them past each other. The latter stumbled forward while the former's blade bit deeply into his back.

Markov laughed as Lorkhan tried to regain his footing after the exchange. "Oh come now, you can do better than that. At this rate killing you won't be any fun. Try to put up a little more of a struggle won't you?"

The orc fumed. With the loudest roar he could muster he surged forward, swinging his zweihander from the side, desperate to make the Nerther-cursed pay for mocking him. The Broken bent down and slid the black blade of his sword underneath Lorkhan's and pushed it upward, causing the swing to divert high into the air. Then, stepping inside his reach he grabbed one of the orc's arms with one hand and with the other slammed the pommel of his sword down on Lorkhan's fingers. The young warrior could feel the bones in his hands snap like twigs and let loose a howl of pain. The zweihander slipped from his grasp and Markov swept his legs out from under him with a swift kick. He landed on his back and tried to sit up, clutching his broken fingers, but stopped when he found a curved black blade at his throat.

The Broken smiled and shook his head. "A worthy effort, but you are fighting a battle you have already lost."

He raised his sword to behead Lorkhan, but a whistling sound followed by a soft thunk made him pause. He reached around behind his back and snapped off the shaft of the arrow that had imbedded itself in his right shoulder. The Broken general turned to see that Rhana had struggled to her feet and had notched another arrow, which she loosed in his direction. Markov, however, batted the arrow aside with the blade of his sword and began calmly advancing toward her. Each arrow she fired met with the same result and was sent spiraling off to the side.

He came to a stop in front of her and with an unhurried swing of his sword sliced Rhana's bow in half. She dropped the remains of her bow and tried to draw a short sword that hung at her side but the Broken general's mutated fingers had already coiled around her throat and lifted her off her feet.

"You have quite the sense of dramatic timing. You would have made an excellent villain. A pity you chose the wrong side." Markov smiled and pulled his sword back, about to ram it into Rhana's stomach, when a voice from over her shoulder stopped him.

"Markov, I see you've been busy."

The Broken general spun the elf in his grasp so that he gripped the back of her neck instead of the front and held his sword to her throat. She could see Jorin Deadeye and several dozen Mag'har warriors standing before her.

Markov spoke with the honeyed voice that he had used the night before. "Jorin, my old friend, it's so good to see you. Still upset about the eye? It was so very delicious." Deadeye merely glared with his one remaining eye back at the Broken, who feigned a pained tone. "What? No small talk? No chitchat? Really Jorin you disappoint me."

"I have a full platoon at my back. Not even you can hope to stand against us."

"Yes, this does seem hardly ideal." Markov seemed almost bored by the statement.

Obereth, after being out cold for the last few minutes, finally managed to haul himself to his feet. "Looks good from where I'm standing." He circled around the Broken general and stopped next to Lorkhan. Brilliant green energy flowed forth from the shaman's palms and into the orc's fingers, which quickly mended themselves.

He picked up his zweihander and smiled. "I've got no complaints."

Rhana scowled at their comments and glanced down at the blade that was pressed against her neck. "Speak for yourselves."

Markov slowly began backing away from Jorin and toward Lorkhan and Obereth, who readied their weapons and prepared to pounce on the repulsive general once he came into striking distance. The Broken, however, turned and with a quick motion threw Rhana at them.

Before he realized what he was doing, Lorkhan had already tossed aside his zweihander, held out his arms, and caught Rhana. Obereth charged at Markov, swinging his mace at the Broken. Just as the massive flanged head was about to smash into his skull, he sprung forward, vaulting over the swing, Obereth, and Lorkhan, before landing behind them and sprinting off into the ruins.

The young orc watched as the tauren turned and ran after him, followed shortly by Jorin Deadeye and his platoon.

"Ahem." He looked down and found, much to his embarrassment, that he still held Rhana in his outstretched arms. "While I do appreciate you catching me, you can put me down now."

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."

Obereth couldn't believe how fast Markov was, even running at full tilt the tauren was having trouble just keeping up with him. As he ran through the ruins he began to notice orcish corpses littering the ground. It looked as if their had been a fierce battle between the Warmaul and the Shadow Council forces from Kil'sorrow, though the shaman had seen no such battle. He recalled what Markov had said to the Ogres that were with him before he had fought Lorkhan. The general had said something about 'planting the bodies.' He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind as he approached the center courtyard in the ruins and spotted his quarry.

The Broken was with the three Ogres from earlier and before them stood what appeared to be a tear in the very fabric of reality. Without hesitation the trio of Ogres stepped through the rift and disappeared. Markov strode up to the portal and turned to face the oncoming tauren, smiling and waving before stepping back through the portal. Obereth rushed toward the rift, but it winked out of existence before he could reach it.

"Where did he go?" Deadeye asked as he and several dozen battle-ready Mag'har caught up to Obereth, who had been left standing alone in the courtyard.

He shook his head. "Escaped through a portal before I could get to him."

"Damn." Jorin surveyed the courtyard and his eye soon found a number of the corpses that Obereth had seen earlier. The one-eyed orc was puzzled. "Kil'sorrow warriors? Where did they come from?"

"Markov had a group of Ogres planting these bodies here while we were busy fighting him." The shaman idly stroked his chin as he thought. "Why would he do that?"

Jorin scowled. "Markov has always enjoyed letting his enemies fight amongst themselves. He's trying to pit the Shadow Council and the Warmaul against each other. With the two of them busy and the Kurenai, Lost Ones, and Boulderfist on his side he can focus exclusively on us." He turned to his platoon and motioned for Obereth to follow him. "Come, we must return to Garadar to plan our next move."


	5. Knight Takes Pawn

Chapter Five: Knight Takes Pawn

"_In chess the pawns go first." – Erik Lehnsherr_

**Garadar, Nagrand – 3 days after the death of Khazar**

It was still very early in the morning when Lorkhan was summoned to meet with Jorin Deadeye. As he walked toward the council chambers he could see the first rays of sunlight had yet to inch over the horizon. He entered the chamber and saw that Obereth and Rhana were already seated around a table in the center of the room, upon which lay a large map of Nagrand.

"Good morning." He nodded to the others, who smiled and returned the gesture.

Rhana groggily mumbled a sound that bore more resemblance to the cry of a Murloc than an elf. Obereth and Lorkhan shared a laugh and the latter joined his friends at the table. Jorin Deadeye strode into the room through one of the many side passageways and quickly crossed the room to the table. He moved with energy and purpose and Lorkhan found himself wondering if the older orc ever slept.

He sat at the table and looked the three over. "Greetings to you all, time is of the essence so I will get down to business. Our scouts have discovered a large Kurenai contingent, roughly two thousand strong, moving toward Sunspring Post." He motion down toward the map that lay spread out before them and traced a path west from Telaar along the Spirit Fields, past Oshu'gun and Aeris Landing, until it finally turned north and reached Sunspring Post.

Obereth's eyes remained fixed on the map as he spoke. "How many defenders are stationed there?"

"A regiment of Azerothian regulars, though they are currently unaware of the threat that approaches them. That is where you all come in. You three are to travel to Sunspring immediately and bring word of the Kurenai advance."

Lorkhan was puzzled. "I beg your pardon sir, but surely you have faster runners who would be able to inform Sunspring of this."

Jorin nodded. "I do, but our scouts have also discovered that Markov is leading this force personally and with Khazar gone the only four Mag'har who have faced him in battle and survived are currently sitting in this room. While I would relish the opportunity to repay Markov for his… hospitality…" One of the orc's hands idly reached up and massaged the temple next to his eye patch. "I must remain here. Garadar needs someone _competent_ to lead its defenses." His inflection made it clear to all those present exactly who the slight was aimed at.

The four sat in silence for a few moments and Lorkhan took the opportunity to voice a concern that was gnawing at the back of his mind. "But we only survived our run-ins with Markov by fleeing and by getting a lot of help."

Jorin shook his head and his normally stern expression softened slightly, as if he was trying – and failing – to be reassuring. "Against Markov there is nothing shameful about that. I am sending you to Sunspring more to serve as advisors. You have faced him and know first hand the kind of tricks he is capable of. You will be there to ensure the defenders do not run headfirst into one of his traps and get slaughtered."

The younger warrior nodded. "Yes sir. When do we depart sir?"

Jorin stood up. "Immediately. Good day." The one-eyed orc turned and walked out of the council chambers.

Lorkhan turned to Obereth and Rhana. "Alright, get your gear and a days rations together and be at the west gate in ten minutes."

The shaman stood, nodded, and strode out of the building, though Rhana merely tilted her head quizzically. "Wait a minute, who put you in charge?"

He shrugged and smiled at her. "I guess I did."

When she merely kept staring back at him he winced inwardly, think that perhaps he had overstepped his bounds with that. After all, she was an elf and it would be completely understandable for her to resent an orc telling her what to do.

When she returned his smile, however, he relaxed. Together the two turned and left the council chambers.

**Somewhere west of Garadar, Nagrand**

"... So from then on I paid attention to every sign and marker I found."

Lorkhan laughed before he spoke to Rhana, who walked beside him. "Even ones that just said 'Thar be dragons'?"

"Especially those."

The young orc smiled. One of the first things that he had discovered about her was that Rhana was an exceptional storyteller. That, and the standard elven aloofness that she tried to maintain was nothing more than a façade. "You're not at all like the description of Blood Elves that I have heard from other fresh faces." He realized too late that he had spoken the tail end of his thoughts out loud.

Rhana looked at him, slightly startled and more than a little curious. "How so?"

His mind rushed to find a way out of the mess his mouth had gotten him into. "Well, you're not trying to eat other people's magic for one."

She sighed and began speaking in a calm, controlled manner that hinted that she had said the exact same words countless times before. "I am a Farstrider and come from a long line of Farstriders. We never relied on magic to the extent that other elves did. When the High Elves became the Blood Elves, the Farstrider Corps didn't change very much. I guess I'm different from a normal Blood Elf because I'm much closer to our High Elf roots."

Obereth's low-slung head leaned over one of her shoulders wearing a smile that could only mean trouble. "Eldrath would disagree."

Rhana's face flushed a bright shade of red as the wizened tauren spoke the name. "Oh, shut up about him."

It was Lorkhan's turn to be curious. "Who's Eldrath?"

The elf quickly waved one of her hands dismissively. "A nobody. I don't want to talk about him." She quickened her pace and hurried off down the road away from the two

As soon as she was out of earshot the confused orc turned to Obereth. "Who's Eldrath?"

The shaman chuckled and thought for a moment before speaking. "Well, given Rhana's luck and the fact that she has now specifically said she doesn't want to talk about him, chances are good you'll meet him very soon."

"What do you mean by 'Rhana's luck'?"

He flashed a knowing smile. "Let's just say I've only managed to survive around her this long by being very tough to kill."

"Oh." Lorkhan wondered for a few moments what the odds were that someone would magically appear soon just because Rhana had mentioned him before shaking his head in disbelief. "No one's luck can possibly be that bad."

One of the tauren's massive eyebrows rose. "Oh really? Five silver says we run into Eldrath before the end of the day."

"Deal."

Both Lorkhan and Obereth turned and hurried to catch up with Rhana, each wearing a confident smile. Each was sure that he had made some easy money.

The day wore on and the sun climbed higher into the sky, reaching its zenith shortly before the trio arrived at their destination. Sunspring Post was a large village sitting on the shore of a lake of the same name. While Garadar was mostly a military fortress and capital, Sunspring was a town of trade, agriculture, and crafting. It had no walls to speak of and was defended by a large number of patrols that scoured the roads and plains that surrounded the village.

One such patrol approached the three. Four orcs wearing heavy plate armor emblazoned with the insignia of Thrall's Horde, their skin a sickly shade of green that Lorkhan recognized as the trademark of an Azerothian orc, bore down on them. The largest of the four was huge, probably seven feet at the shoulder though his hunched posture made determining his exact height impossible, and wielded an axe that was even bigger than he was. The lead orc looked as if he was thinking of the fastest ways to kill them when a grin crossed his face.

He spoke, his voice deep and powerful. "Obereth, why aren't you dead yet?"

Obereth smiled in return. "It's nice to see you too Uruk. How's Dakara?"

The massive orc let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head before replying. "Pregnant again. She tried to maul me because she's to weak to leave Orgrimmar and blames me for keeping her from battle."

"My congratulations on avoiding being castrated yet again." The shaman chuckled before adopting a more serious tone. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I am here on business. I have a message from Jorin Deadeye and I need to speak with your commanding officer."

The orc nodded. "Yes, of course." He pointed to one of the smaller orcs who was snickering, more than likely about the earlier exchange. "You! Maggot! Stop snickering and take these three to see the Lieutenant General at once or I'll gut you like I did your predecessor!"

The smaller, green-skinned orc immediately stopped laughing and snapped to attention. He hurriedly motioned for Lorkhan, Obereth, and Rhana to follow him and sped off down the road toward Sunspring, eager to get away from his very large and very angry superior. As the three followed the orc into and through the streets of Sunspring, Lorkhan became more and more worried. Rhana was becoming increasingly skittish as she looked from face to face and her expression indicated she recognized all of them. Obereth's smile grew wider as the minutes crept by, amused by the discomfort both his friends were feeling.

The anxious Azerothian orc led them to a house in the center of Sunspring that had, judging by the absurd number of warriors clustered around it, been commandeered for Horde use. As they approached two guards, who stood on either side of the door, eyed them with suspicion. In a camp teeming with orcs, both Mag'har and Azerothian, trolls, tauren, and even a few undead the two elven guards stood out. They were short and slender, their bodies obviously designed more for speed and stealth than brute strength. Their faces were long, thin, and angular and each had flowing blonde hair. Lorkhan could see many similarities between them and Rhana, despite the fact that both of the guards were male.

One of the guards pushed the door open and motioned for them to enter. Lorkhan glanced at one of the guards as he stepped inside and was met by a look of utter contempt. In the guard's flaming green eyes he could see a smoldering rage tempered only by an equally frightening fanaticism. The orc shivered involuntarily under the elf's gaze before hurrying after Obereth and Rhana.

The inside of the building was the site of a war between cultures. The walls were rough and practical as befitting an orcish dwelling but long, gossamer silk curtains hung from them. The floor was cold, uninviting stone but was covered in places by ornate carpets. In a corner, near a group of heavy wooden chairs, was a massive red crystal that seemed to hang suspended in the air and Lorkhan felt uncomfortable even looking at it. Whenever his eyes wandered to it he got the distinct impression that the crystal was starring back at him.

In the center of the room stood a table upon which a large map of Nagrand lay unfurled. Stooped over the table was a man like the ones who stood guard outside. His blonde hair was short, though it retained its silken appearance, and a thin patch of golden hair clung to his chin. The elf looked up from the map and a grin spread across his face as he spied Rhana.

She, however, looked far more shocked than pleased to see the elf before her. "Eldrath?"

Obereth leaned over to whisper in the ear of a gapping Lorkhan. "Pay up." The startled orc quickly collected himself and begrudgingly rummaged through his pack. He produced five silver coins that the shaman accepted with such a sarcastic graciousness that the warrior almost laughed.

Eldrath, however, paid no attention to the orc and tauren or the exchange between them. His eyes were fixed squarely on Rhana and his grin widened as he watched her try to compose herself. "Rhana, it's good to see you again."

When she finally managed to speak, it was in an almost painfully awkward voice. "I must say this is… a surprise." Lorkhan did not doubt that she could have found other, more offensive, ways of describing the situation.

The elf tilted his head. "A pleasant one I hope?" Rhana struggled to respond but he merely laughed and shook his head. "You don't need to answer that."

Lorkhan stepped forward, taking it upon himself to end this exchange that was making Rhana so uncomfortable. He put on his sternest expression and spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Lieutenant General, I bring word from Jorin Deadeye. A Kurenai force is moving across the Spirit Fields toward Sunspring."

Eldrath immediately became just as serious and turned toward him. "How many?"

The young warrior was glad to see Rhana relax slightly as the conversation began moving in a more business-like direction. He tried to maintain his serious veneer as he spoke. "Last estimates indicate roughly two thousand, but that is not the worst part. The army is being led by Markov the Nether-cursed."

The elven general didn't so much as blink. "That name means nothing to me."

"Did you hear about Khazar's defeat at Clan Watch?"

"Yes."

"That was Markov's doing."

"I see. I also heard that Rhana and Obereth were two of the only three survivors which explains why Deadeye sent you three and not a mere runner." The elf smiled and chuckled mirthlessly. "He doesn't trust me to fight this 'Markov' on my own." Eldrath glared at Lorkhan and he could feel the elf's burning gaze boring its way through his eyes and into his skull. "It also means that you must be Lorkhan, so good to meet you."

He could not tell if the bizarre elf was actually happy to meet him but he returned the greeting regardless. "And you."

Eldrath looked down and gestured at the map that lay before them. "Sunspring Post is entirely indefensible. The village has a large civilian population that would put a drain on resources and currently has no fortifications to speak of. We are pinned against Sunspring Lake and the road would allow an attacker to quickly and easily encircle us. No, better that we move out and engage the enemy away from Sunspring."

Lorkhan raised one of his eyebrows. "Run out and meet Markov head on?"

"Yes, our own forces number slightly more than his. If we strike first then we will be able to bloody his nose and force him to turn back."

The young orc thought for a moment, remembering how Markov had fought at the Laughing Skull ruins, before shaking his head. "It won't work out that way."

Again Eldrath tiled his head. "And why do you say that?"

"Markov is not the type on whom brute force tactics would work. He will be ready for this and will have something nasty in store for us"

"Do you have a better plan?"

Lorkhan struggled to think, looking down at the map. "… No."

"Then we will depart immediately. I have been preparing for this kind of a maneuver and my regiment is ready to move out on a moment's notice. Come, let us go."

He strode out of the room and was quickly followed by Rhana and Obereth. Lorkhan paused for a moment, looking down at the map before walking after them. He caught up with Obereth and leaned over to whisper to the tauren. "Seriously, how did you know he would be here?"

He shrugged. "I heard before I came to Garadar that Eldrath's regiment had shipped out to reinforce Horde holdings in Outland. He wasn't at Thrallmar when I went through there so when I heard Jorin say that a regiment of 'Azerothian regulars' was stationed at Sunspring I figured he would be here." He paused before continuing. "You want the silver back?"

Lorkhan waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, keep it." His mind was occupied with other things. His head swam with questions about their new acquaintance.

Obereth chuckled as he examined the expression on Lorkhan's face. The confused orc turned to look at the tauren, wondering why he would laugh. Once again the old shaman wore a knowing smile as he looked back at him. "Don't worry, his full name is Eldrath Taltherion. He's her brother."

Lorkhan froze midstride and stuttered as he tried to respond. "Wait what? I– I didn't– I mean–" Obereth merely laughed again and continued walking, leaving the warrior standing alone. When he was confident that no one could see his face he allowed himself to smile. "Her brother…"

**Somewhere near Aeris Landing, Nagrand**

Lorkhan felt the massive press of bodies threaten to crush him. The battles he had been in before were piddling affairs compared to this. At Clan Watch and the Laughing Skull ruins there had been no more than a half dozen people fighting at any one time and there had been plenty of room to maneuver. Now, however, he could barely move as a rippling wall of friends and foes closed in around him.

Out of the mass burst a Broken who lunged at him, using a large, round shield to bat aside his zweihander. It brought a short sword up and was about to ram it into him when Lorkhan's foot shot forward and struck it in the stomach. The hideous creature stumbled back and bumped into one of its compatriots. The orc warrior raised his zweihander high and brought it down in an arc toward the Broken, who raised its shield to block the blow. A sickening crack greeted his ears as the bones in his opponent's arm snapped under the stress and the massive blade plowed past the shield and into the Broken's left shoulder, just at the base of the neck. It crumpled under the force of the swing and blood spurted from the gaping wound.

He ripped his sword out of the Broken, who promptly collapsed, and was immediately knocked down by an orcish corpse that had been sent sailing in his direction. His sword slipped from his grasp as he fell and struck the cold, damp grass. Lorkhan pushed the body out of his way just in time to a see another Broken raise its sword to strike him. The warrior's hands rushed to find the handle of his zweihander but they came up empty. His new opponent was about to part his head from his shoulders when a massive axe imbedded itself in the Broken's chest and carried its dying body off with it. As Lorkhan stood he could see a tide of orcs surge past him.

The Kurenai were falling back in a slow, orderly fashion. Each line would peel off to the side as the orcs approached, exposing a second line of swords, shields, and spears. The lines that peeled off hurried to the back of the formation and set up another line farther back. The young orc was dumbstruck by how calm and controlled it was, more like a work of art than a maneuver on the battlefield.

As the distance between the two forces increased the lines that peeled off simple began marching back across the Spirit Fields instead of forming another line. Cheers rippled through the Horde forces as they saw their enemies turn and run. Eldrath and his officers quickly reformed the column and began marching across the plains after the Kurenai. Lorkhan found Eldrath, Obereth, and Rhana at the head of the column. The young warrior fell into line alongside the elven general.

"I don't like the looks of this."

Eldrath motioned to the plains ahead of them, where the Kurenai army was falling back, being peppered by the occasional volley of arrows as they did. "Why? Our enemy turns and flees before us, is this not a good thing?"

"That retreat was far to orderly. It was magnificent, something that well executed had to have been preplanned."

The elf turned to Lorkhan and smiled, as if he already knew that the orc would say that, but wanted to hear it anyway. "But it was still a retreat and I would be a fool if I did not press my advantage." He motioned back to the battlefield they were quickly leaving behind. "That, though violent, solved little. Unless the Kurenai forces are beaten decisively they will merely strike elsewhere and we may not be there to stop them next time."

"... I know." Lorkhan felt rather sheepish as he realized that Eldrath had already thought the situation through. He had been a step ahead of him even without knowing Markov.

Eldrath put a hand on the orc's shoulder. "Lorkhan, your advice is welcome, but at this point my choices are as limited as they are obvious. We will pursue the Kurenai for as long as we are able."

'As long as able' was until well after nightfall. The Kurenai army had crossed the Spirit Fields and made camp outside of Telaar's western wall while the regiment from Sunspring, exhausted from a long day's fighting and marching, was forced to camp for the night as well. Eldrath chose a site in the shadow of Oshu'gun so that they would not be flanked in the night, but Lorkhan couldn't shake the feeling that Markov still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He walked about the darkened camp, at first not quite sure where he was going or why, but soon realized that he was walking toward Rhana's tent. He still didn't know why she was so uncomfortable about meeting her brother and was more than a little curious. He stopped as he heard voices coming from the tent and could see the shadows of two figures sitting in it.

"... I know what you see in him." The first voice was calm and Lorkhan recognized Eldrath's trademark confidence.

"What are you talking about?" The second was the voice of an exasperated woman that he recognized as a frustrated Rhana.

"Oh come now. I've noticed it. Obereth has noticed it. He has probably noticed it too, though he doesn't know the whole story behind it. You see Talec in him."

"I–"

"I saw through his little serious act the moment I met him. He's not very good at pretending to be something he's not, which in a way is a good thing. His wide-eyed curiosity, his eagerness to jump to your aid, it's just like Talec. Plus he's also got a good head on his shoulders and he balances his curiosity with a healthy amount of caution. You really should snap him up before someone else does."

A long pause followed the statement before Rhana spoke. "I hate you."

"Really, and why do you hate me this time?" Lorkhan could easily picture Eldrath tilting his head to the side and smirking as he spoke.

"Because those eyes of yours see too much and you trivialize everything they find."

"Of course I trivialize your feelings. They are nothing special. You and I are nothing special. No one is. We are just bags of meat, water, and flaws."

"Then why do you constantly muck up my life?"

"Because, little sister, that is my job. And besides, I don't want to see you wallow in misery over something that isn't nearly as serious as you think. Call it my flaw."

"You know what your flaw is?"

"Do tell, dear sister."

"It's actually quite simple: You're insane. Your mind has a tendency to run off and spin wild fantasies that may sound nice, but are impossible." As Rhana spoke she grew more and more agitated. "He is an orc, I am an elf. Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Of course not, everyone is equally worthless in my eyes. The real question, though, is does it matter to you?"

"Can't you ever take anything seriously?"

"No." One of the shadows stood up. "Good night Rhana."

Eldrath walked out of the tent, chuckled, and turned to look directly at Lorkhan. The elf smiled and nodded to him before turning and disappearing into the night.

Lorkhan paused for a moment as his mind tripped over itself, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Eldrath had reached new heights of eccentricity. How had the elf suddenly jumped to such an outlandish conclusion? And who was this Talec that he had spoken of? He considered for a moment asking Rhana herself about it, but quickly thought better of it. He doubted she would appreciate him eavesdropping on her or poking into strictly personal matters that really weren't any of his business.

Eventually he simply gave up trying to make sense of the exchange he had overheard and pushed the thoughts out of his mind for the time being. He returned to his tent and tried to sleep, but met with little success until many hours later.

**The Spirit Fields, Nagrand**

For the second time in a week Lorkhan awoke to the sounds of shouting, a decidedly unpleasant experience that he had hoped not to repeat. His hand immediately shot to where he kept his zweihander and, unlike the night at Clan Watch, it found the massive handle. The warrior hurried out of his tent and looked around the camp. The first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon and by that light he saw what the shouting had been about. To the east lay Telaar and the Kurenai camp that had been there the night before. To the north, however, off in the distance was a dark blotch, a blight upon the land punctuated by the crimson banners of the Kurenai.

They were trapped.


	6. King Takes Knight

Chapter Six: King Takes Knight

"_If the king doesn't lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow?" – Lelouch Lamperouge_

**The Spirit Fields, Nagrand**

"Why didn't we see them move in the night? Didn't you have scouts watching them?"

"I did. The scouts I sent to watch the Kurenai outside Telaar reported that the army hadn't moved."

"Then how did the second army get there?"

"I don't know."

"Well, now what?"

Eldrath unfurled a map of Nagrand before answering her. "To our west is Oshu'gun, to our south is the edge of the world, to our east is Telaar and part of the Kurenai army, and to our north is the rest of the Kurenai army." Obereth, Rhana, and Lorkhan gathered around the map. "The way I see it we have two options. First: We stand, fight, and probably die. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that that is not an acceptable option."

One of the young orc's eyebrows rose at this. "And the second?"

The elven general traced a line from their current camp northeast to Garadar. "We head northeast, attempt to slip between the Kurenai armies and make a break for Garadar."

"This ridgeline will make that difficult." Lorkhan leaned over to look at the map and pointed to an outcropping to the northeast marked on the map. "We won't be able to move up or around it very quickly and the Kurenai will box us in."

"I never said either option was very good."

Lorkhan wracked his brain for ideas. What had Markov done to trap them? What could they do to slip out? Markov couldn't have simply pulled an army out of thin air, meaning he had it before hand. They hadn't seen the northern army when they were moving across the Spirit Fields, meaning it moved into position during the night. However, the total number of Kurenai was the same as yesterday so Markov must have merely rearranged what he already had. He stroked his chin in thought, glaring down at the map. As he looked at the land around Oshu'gun, he slowly realized what had happened.

"Of course."

The others gave him a puzzled look. Rhana placed a hand on his shoulder and looked down at the map, then back at him. "Of course what?"

"The northern army was part of the force that we fought at Aeris Landing and that retreated across the Spirit Fields."

Eldrath's eyes narrowed. "Then why didn't my scouts notice them move?"

"Because they had already split off by the time we caught up to the army camped outside Telaar. While they were retreating across the Spirit Fields a part of the Kurenai force must have peeled off and looped around Oshu'gun during the night." Lorkhan looked at the others, hoping they would see where he was going.

They didn't. "So?" Rhana asked, shrugging. "How does knowing that help us?"

"It means that the northern army is tired. They've been marching and fighting for more than twenty-four hours nonstop. If we charge them then we should be able to punch through them and reach Halaa to the north."

Rhana leaned over and traced a path around the far side of the white mountain on the map. "Why not just loop around Oshu'gun like they did?"

"If we do that then northern army would only have to shift its position very slightly to block us and the eastern one would roll up our flank. However, if we attack the northern army now then the ridgeline to the northeast will prevent the eastern army from flanking us as quickly. It might buy us enough time to escape."

Eldrath paused for a moment before folding and pocketing the map. "Alright, we move north." He turned to address a number of subordinates and began doling out orders. As his officers moved out to organize their various detachments, the Blood Elf began chanting and making strange gestures with his hands. A ball of brilliant white energy formed in them and flowed out to the ground in front of him where a massive warhorse sprang forth. The mighty steed wore flanged, blood red armor that matched Eldrath's own and radiated a palpable aura of holy energy.

Lorkhan, despite the fact that the plan was his, did not like their odds. Markov's forces had them surrounded and boxed in, and his plan was to run right at them. If the eastern army managed to flank them before they could escape then none of them would live to see the end of the day. The orc knew, however, that he could not voice his worries to the others, lest they lose confidence in it and return to wallowing in indecision. The longer they spent trying to come up with a plan, the lower their chances of survival. He, Obereth, and Rhana fell in behind Eldrath as the elf rode to the front of the rapidly coalescing formation. The regiment formed into a wedge, a spearhead with the Blood Knight at its tip.

As they filed out of their camp and onto the field, Lorkhan saw the elf remove a large, intricately carved horn from a pouch hanging from his saddle. He raised the horn to his lips and blew. The deep bass was not quite low enough to be inaudible but the young orc could feel the sound reverberate through the ground and up into his very bones. A bellowing roar rippled through the regiment as over a thousand warriors answered the horn's call and surged forward. It took a few moments for him to realize that he had been one of them and that he was somehow keeping pace with the mounted elf, whose warhorse was now racing toward the Kurenai lines.

The regiment of orcs, trolls, elves, tauren, and undead hurtled toward the Kurenai, who steeled themselves against the oncoming Horde. Unstoppable force met immovable object in a sickening crash of flesh and steel. Lorkhan rammed headfirst into the shield of one of the Broken and plowed through it, trampling the Kurenai. As he had predicted, the warriors they faced were visibly tired, though he did not have time to process this as he madly hacked through the Kurenai formation, desperate to reach the far side and safety. The line of Kurenai was shallow, perhaps only seven or eight deep.

He clawed his way through the wall of foes. He could still see Eldrath's warhorse plowing through the Kurenai ahead of him and struggled to keep up with the Blood Knight. The orc rammed his zweihander into Broken after Broken and just as he was sure that the unrelenting mass of foes would crush him he burst out into the fields beyond. Adrenaline had flooded the warrior's veins and clouded his already panicking mind. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see other orcs running along with him, though the number was frighteningly small. Arrows whistled by his ears as he ran, spurring him to greater speeds.

Lorkhan was one of a number of exhausted warriors who staggered across the southern bridge into Halaa. The fight and flight had robbed them of any sense of organization and stragglers continued to filter in from the Spirit Fields. Their numbers however, were anything but promising. Despite the fact that the northern army had been tired and the ridgeline had blocked the eastern army, the Kurenai had still quickly enveloped them. The shallow setup of the enemy lines that had allowed the warriors at the tip of the spearhead to punch through and reach the safety of Halaa had allowed the Kurenai to swiftly surround and slaughter those who had been unable to escape.

He could see Eldrath, Obereth, and Rhana up ahead, standing in a clearing in the middle of the pinnacle and as they noticed the young warrior approaching he saw the despondent expressions on their faces brighten slightly. Rhana rushed forward to greet him and wrapped her arms around him in a massive hug. She was absurdly strong for her size and Lorkhan gasped for air as she embraced him. Over her shoulder, he could see Eldrath and Obereth simultaneously raise an eyebrow at the act.

Rhana must have been aware of the sudden scrutiny and quickly released him, backing off and smiling sheepishly. "I'm glad to see that you're alright."

He smiled back. "And I you. How many of us made it here?"

"Not many," Eldrath said, shaking his head as he spoke. "The latest headcount put the total just shy of four hundred."

The warrior's brow furrowed. That was less than a fifth the force they had set out with the day before. "Markov still has well over a thousand troops out there. He will attack and try to finish the job."

"I know." The elf turned and quickly strode to one of the nearby guards, who saluted to him. "I must speak with Chief Researcher Amereldine."

The armored elf nodded his head. "Yes sir, I will take you to her."

The guard turned but stopped when he heard the voice of an elven woman. "That will be unnecessary Sergeant." Lorkhan looked over and saw the source of the voice. It was a blonde haired elf who walked toward them with a regal elegance, much unlike the distinctly predatory grace that characterized Rhana or the calm, measured gait of her brother. "Eldrath, what happened to you? Where is the rest of your regiment?"

"This is all that remains of my regiment." Lorkhan found the elven general's words frighteningly familiar. They were unnervingly similar to the ones that he himself had spoken before the Council of Elders in Garadar only four days prior. "The Kurenai ambushed us to the south, killing the majority of us, and I have no doubt that they will strike Halaa soon. How many warriors do you command?"

"I have five hundred able bodied troops under my command, though any army that could defeat your regiment will crush us like insignificant bugs."

The Blood Knight rubbed his temples, lost in thought. When he spoke it seemed to be to no one in particular. "The advantage the terrain provides us cannot be underestimated. Markov only outnumbers us by at most three to two and can only approach Halaa from across the southern bridge. If we tilt our defenses to cover that side then we should be able to hold Halaa."

**Halaa, Nagrand – Later that night**

"Hurry maggots! Get this cart to the southern bridge to shore up the barricade!" Uruk pointed to the wooden wagon and motioned for the orcs under his command to seize it.

Though night had its veil over the Land of Winds hours before, the torches seeded throughout Halaa kept the pinnacle brightly lit. By the torchlight Uruk's team worked tirelessly to build a massive barricade to block off the southern approach. As the orcs began to haul off the cart, one of the warriors near the cliff edge looked off into the night, startled.

"What was that?" The orc wandered away from the cart. He could have sworn he heard something that had sounded like a cascade of crumbling stone.

Uruk was about to berate the warrior for drifting away from the group when he saw a massive hand reach up from the cliff edge and haul the orc off the precipice into the inky blackness. The green-skinned warrior's eyes shot open and his hand flew to the handle of his axe as a colossal figure clawed its way out of the darkness and up onto the pinnacle.

"Ogres! To arms!"

As the first of many Ogres stepped forward into the torch light Uruk was stunned to see what it wore. Strapped to a harness that the creature carried were three Broken, who unhooked themselves and landed with catlike grace before lunging at the assembled warriors as other Ogres disgorged even more.

Lorkhan's ears perked up as they heard shouting and the distinctive sound of clashing steel. He picked up his zweihander and instinctively ran toward the noise. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was running north and his mind raced as he recognized what that meant.

Markov had flanked them _again_.

Ahead he could see a line of Ogres and Broken slowly beating back the defenders. A massive Ogre wielding an equally large spiked club smashed through the line and charged toward him. It brought its club in an arc down over its head, bellowing with rage as it swung. Lorkhan whipped up his zweihander and skewered the club as it fell, guiding it off to the side.

The tree trunk sized weapon smashed into the ground, sending a tremor through the pinnacle. The young orc wrenched his sword from the club and swung it high toward the Ogre's head. Though the monstrosity was more than twice his height, it was kneeling after its absurdly powerful swing and he had just enough reach to take a six inch deep slice out of its throat. The Ogre stumbled back, clutching at its throat and emitting a pitiful gurgling noise before toppling over.

The young orc heard from behind him a deep chuckling and whirled around just in time for another Ogre's foot to catch him in the stomach. He flew backwards through the air before he struck the ground and skidded to a halt. His ribs cried out in protest for what he was sure was the umpteenth time in the last week and as he struggled to breathe he saw, looking down at him, a concerned yet somewhat amused face.

Rhana smiled at the orc who had skidded to a halt at her feet. "Hello, fancy seeing you here."

She notched and loosed an arrow which imbedded itself in one of the Ogre's eyes. The beast howled in pain and its hands pawed wildly at the geyser of blood that erupted from its face. It made the disastrous mistake of attempting to remove the viciously barbed arrow, which ripped off a large portion of the skin on the Ogre's face on the way out, and the brute staggered about like a drunkard before collapsing.

Lorkhan tried to sit up but his chest screamed at his mind until he stopped. As he stared up at the sky above yet another familiar face leaned into view. Obereth smiled and held out his hands causing brilliant green energy to envelope the orc's chest. The pain in his ribs subsided and his breathing became easier. The shaman offered a huge hand to him, which he took, and hauled him to his feet.

Looking around, he saw that he stood near the eastern edge of the pinnacle on which Halaa was built. Rhana was firing arrows at a pack of approaching Broken and though she felled many of them, they got closer every moment. Those that managed to get past her arrows had to deal with Eldrath, who stood beside his sister, striking down approaching foes with holy energy and an enormous sword. The hilt was designed in the shape of a large red 'L' and brilliant emerald runes shone on the blade, though the most disturbing part of the sword was the green skull the hovered in an opening near the tip of the blade.

The orc shook his head as he saw the mass of oncoming foes and the veritable army that now swarmed over the pinnacle "We can't take them all, we have to fall back."

"To where? We're surrounded!" Rhana didn't even turn to look at him and instead continued firing arrows.

He thought for a moment before looking over the side of the cliff. It was a long way down but the water in the basin had been unseasonably deep as of late. It might be enough to cushion the fall. "We'll have to jump."

This time she turned toward him, startled. "Are you insane?"

"Probably, but that hardly matters now."

"Rhana, look out!" Eldrath rushed to his sister's side and pushed her down just in time for a massive club to swing down and swat him instead of her.

The Blood Knight arced through the air, flying deeper into Halaa. Obereth dived forward and tackled the Ogre, ramming his horns into its gut and knocking it off its feet. The tauren then raised his flanged mace and brought it crashing down onto the brute's head, reducing it to a bloody smear in the dirt. Eldrath landed with a thud and rolled along the ground before slowly got to his feet. He was, however, now quite a ways away from the others and completely surrounded by the Broken he had landed in the midst of. He coughed up a mouthful of blood and what he was sure were several organs before placing his hand on his chest. His palm radiated the stolen energies of the Naaru M'uru and his body mended itself.

"Eldrath!" Rhana jumped to her feet and was about to rush to her brother's aid when Obereth picked her up off her feet.

"No Rhana! We have to get out of here! Now!"

Eldrath readied his sword, confident that he could slay any of the Broken that encircled him if they were stupid enough to charge him. He wasn't prepared, however, for a single Broken to calmly step forward into the circle. The grotesquely mutated creature wore a patch over its right eye and a long, curved sword hung in a sheath on its back.

Markov the Nether-cursed smirked. "So you're the commander of this rabble. I see that disgusting worm of an elf Kael'thas has decided to once again stick his demon worshipping nose where it doesn't belong."

The elf remained silent and the Broken general's hideous smile widened as a bemused look crossed his face.

"What? No response? No fanatical objection? Interesting." He thought for a few moments before leaning forward and tapping his tentacled chin. "Tell you what, I'll give you a free shot."

"You can't be serious."

"Completely."

The Blood Knight swung his sword at Markov with all his might, slicing through the air toward the thick stump of a neck. Just as the blade was about to strike him, however, it slowed to a crawl and quickly ground to a halt. Eldrath tried to lever the sword forward into Markov's throat but it refused to budge. The skull set into the end of the blade shone a brilliant green and the runes along its surface flickered, as if protesting.

His smile widened even further. "The sword you wield was forged around a crystal that radiates pure void energy, the same energy emitted by Voidwrath here. And just as the like poles of a magnet repel, the Ashbringer and the Black Blade of Sin cannot approach each other."

He took a step forward and the red sword whipped out of the elf's hands, twirling through the air before lodging itself in the side of a nearby building. Markov's fist shot forward into Eldrath's stomach, causing him to double over clutching his gut in pain. The Broken's hand reached up and grasped the elf's hair, dragging his head down even further into a waiting knee. Blood spurted from Eldrath's nose as Markov wrenched his head back and tossed him to the side. He hit the ground and rolled several feet before he struggled to get to his feet. The Broken general leisurely strolled over to the elf and slowly circled around him, drawing his sword while he walked. A sharp kick to the calves brought the Blood Knight to his knees.

A horrified expression crossed Lorkhan's face as he realized what was happening. Images of Khazar and his final battle with the Nether-cursed flashed through his mind. Markov raised his pitch-black sword and swung it down, striking Eldrath's head from his shoulder.

Rhana broke free of Obereth's grip and rushed forward toward her fallen brother "Eldrath!"

Lorkhan managed to grab a hold of her arm and pulled her back. "Rhana! There's no more time!

The look on her face was almost too painful for him to behold. Tears streamed down her face and her normally cheerful visage had contorted into an expression of overwhelming despair. She shut her eyes tightly and when they shot open the sorrow and misery were gone, replaced by a barely controlled rage and iron determination. She wrenched herself free of his grip, turned, and vaulted off edge of Halaa.

The orc looked over at Obereth, who was eyeing the water in Halaani Basin uneasily. "Obereth, what are you waiting for?"

"I... I can't swim."

"Can't _swim_? The _fall_ will kill you!"

The wizened shaman hesitated for a moment before running and leaping off Halaa. Lorkhan followed him soon after and plummeted down into the basin below. He struck the water with a thunderous crack and darkness took him.

He wallowed in the murk of his own head for some time until a distant sound caught his attention. Even from his mind's prison of shadow, he could hear the familiar voice calling to him. "Lorkhan? Are you alright? Lorkhan!"

Another voice, deeper than the first drifted through his mind. "I don't think he can hear you, that fall was pretty nasty."

"Yeah, well so is this."

A sharp pain in his jaw snapped him out of his slumber. "Ow." Lorkhan's vision returned to him and he could see Rhana standing over him, rubbing her knuckles.

Obereth's huge face leaned into view. "Welcome back to the land of the living, but we must hurry or your stay might not be very long."

The prone warrior massaged his aching jaw. "How many made it?"

"The three of us and nine others, but we need to get moving." The tauren helped him to his feet. Looking around, Lorkhan saw a motley group of green-skinned orcs who were already filtering off toward Garadar. The trio hurried after them and quickly scaled the eastern side of Halaani Basin.

As the survivors approached Garadar, they saw at the gate a familiar face. It was the same sentry who had been there to greet them upon their return from Clan Watch. The orc looked the group over and smirked when his eyes found Lorkhan. "You again? This is becoming something of a bad habit."

The smaller warrior opened his mouth, about to respond, when Rhana strode forward and punched the orc in the face. The sentry toppled over backward and struck the ground with a resounding thud, out cold before he even hit the dirt. She stormed past the fallen guard and quickly disappeared into Garadar.

Lorkhan looked down at the unconscious guard, then watched with trepidation as Rhana skulked off. "Do you think she'll be alright?"

Obereth shook his head. "No, but right now we need to inform the Deadeye of the situation."

The two barged into a session of the Council of Elders, they were in far to much of a hurry to bother with petty ceremony. Garrosh Hellscream stood, enraged by the disturbance. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

The pair did not bow to the so-called 'leader' of the Mag'har military, they did not even look at the orc. Instead Lorkhan turned to Jorin Deadeye and Greatmother Geyah. "Halaa has fallen to the Kurenai, Sunspring is defenseless, and Markov will soon move against Garadar itself."

Deafening silence blanketed the council chambers. As one might expect from the boisterous chieftain, Garrosh was the first to break it. He threw his tree-trunk like arms up over his head. "Then all is lost!" He shot a feral glare at Jorin Deadeye and his words sounded like the snarling of a beast. "I should have known that Jorin and his whelps would lead us to total annihilation!"

The one-eyed orc stood and pointed accusingly at the Chieftain. "And what have you done Garrosh? Nothing! You sat here in Garadar and bemoaned your poor fortune while others were left to do your job! You have no right to question the competence of others when you yourself have none!"

"Be silent! Both of you!" The Greatmother's normally calm face bore a look of frustration.

An unnatural quiet descended on the chamber, but was quickly dispelled when one of the elders leaned forward and spoke. "But if Markov is closing in on us then we must act quickly if we are to push him back."

Another elder looked at the first as if he were insane. "With what? With the loss of Halaa, Khazar's battalion, and the defenders of Sunspring our forces number barely enough to defend Garadar!"

A third elder chimed in, adding to the already chaotic discussion. "And what of Sunspring? We cannot leave it defenseless, Markov will slaughter the entire village!"

The second elder turned and immediately berated the third. "Don't be a fool! We have lost nearly three and a half thousand troops in the last week alone and cannot spare any warriors to defend Sunspring. If we send any more then Garadar itself will fall!"

Lorkhan was quickly growing sick of the pointless bickering. He turned and left the council chambers in chaos. Word had apparently spread quickly of the defeat at Halaa and as the young orc walked the streets of Garadar he could see, hear, and feel the turmoil that rocked the fortress. Already he could hear cries of 'Doom is upon us!' and 'Deadeye has betrayed us!' or 'Garrosh has failed us!' from the various corners of Garadar.

He aimlessly wandered about, unsure of where he was going, until he saw an orc fly out the door of a nearby building and slam into the dirt. One of his eyebrows slowly rose and looked to see where the orc had come from. Stepping in through the open door the stench of sweat, vomit, blood, and alcohol immediately assaulted his nose. The bar was packed with Mag'har who were drinking and celebrating as if the end of the world was right around the corner.

Perhaps it was.

As Lorkhan's eyes scanned the crowd he found a face he certainly did not expect to see in such a barbaric setting. Quietly sitting at the bar and downing mug after mug of ale was a certain despondent Blood Elf. He was about to go to speak with Rhana, to try and comfort her as she had him, when something happened that made him think twice. A large, and obviously very drunk, orc stumbled over and began trying to paw the moping elf, who casually set her drink down, grabbed the orc by the arm, tripped him, and sent him sailing across the bar. The orc flew past Lorkhan and out the open door, landing in the same spot that he had seen the first one crash to earth.

Concerned both for Rhana and the wellbeing of the other patrons, Lorkhan slowly walked over to the bar and sat down next to her. They sat for in silence for a few moments and she didn't even acknowledge his presence so he leaned over toward her.

"Rhana?"

"What do you want?" She spoke without looking up from her drink and sounded supremely annoyed by the interruption.

"I just wanted to talk."

The elf raised one of her hands and the bartender hurried over with another mug of ale. Lorkhan noticed that the bartender's face was badly bruised and blood flowed down from his obviously broken nose. Rhana snatched the drink from the nervous bartender and set it down on the bar in front of newcomer.

"Don't talk, just drink."

"Rhana, I don't think that…"

His voice trailed off as he felt one of Rhana's hands run up his back and into his short, black hair. The sudden and tender move sent shivers down his spine and the disturbingly affectionate expression she wore while her hand wandered through his hair banished any notions he might have had about her being anywhere remotely near her right mind.

"I think," he managed to blurt out, "you might have had a bit too much to–"

In an instant her hand balled into a fist, grabbing his scalp and smashing his face into the bar. She yanked his head back and picked up the mug, dumping its contents into his mouth and stifling a cry of pain.

She set the mug back down and had the bartender bring over another, which she set in front of the startled orc. She glared at him and spoke with an accusing tone, though he thought he heard the slightest tinge of regret in her words. "Don't make me do that again."

Part of Lorkhan thought it would be best if he were to get up and leave the bar, preferably before having all of his bones broken by the drunk and agitated Farstrider. Another part of him, however, compelled him to stay. There was just something about leaving Rhana to wallow in her misery that didn't sit well with him.

An hour and countless drinks later, she showed no signs of slowing down. The young orc, however, could feel the ale strangling his brain. The pleasant buzz that they ale had brought with it had long since morphed into a throbbing ache. His skull felt as if a hammer had smashed it open and his stomach quickly seconded his head's complaints threatening to turn inside out if it was force to tackle another mug of ale. Either that or it was demanding higher wages and better working conditions, he wasn't quite sure anymore.

He turned to look at Rhana, who was downing her umpteenth mug of ale. "How can you possibly hold that much ale?"

The light, slender elf looked up from her drink and smiled proudly, raising a wavering hand in a wild and uncoordinated attempt to gesticulate as she spoke. "Practice. Whenever I went drinking I would always try to keep up with Obereth." She turned back to her drink and glared intently at it, as if it were suddenly the most complex and fascinating thing on any world spinning through the Great Dark. "Never could though, not sure why."

"Maybe because he's a nine foot tall, six hundred pound tauren and you're... well... not."

She stared back at him and an annoyed look crossed her face. "Why are you here anyway?"

Lorkhan tried to speak his mind, but found forming coherent sentences exceedingly difficult. "I came to make sure you were okay. I came to try and comfort you, as you did me."

"If memory serves you told me to get lost."

"I did."

"Well then. Get lost."

"And if my memory serves you kept trying to comfort me, so I will too. Regardless of what you say."

Rhana threw back her head and cackled madly, drawing glances from the other patrons in the bar, before she glared over at him. "Back then I was going to leave you to wallow in your misery after you brushed me off, I only tried again because Obereth talked me into it." She grinned triumphantly. "So, since the big lug isn't here, why don't you get lost like I asked?"

At first the revelation hurt. Rhana hadn't really cared, she had only tried to help because Obereth had–

His train of thought ground to a halt and a smile slowly formed on his face as he managed to remember, even through the fog that clouded his mind, exactly who he was dealing with.

"You were going to leave me alone?"

"Yes."

"You weren't going to try to comfort me."

"Right."

"But then Obereth convinced you to try even though you didn't want to."

"That's about the size of it."

"When has anyone ever been able to talk you into doing anything that you weren't already planning on doing?"

"Never," she said with the same confident smile that she had worn when answering the other questions. But then, realizing what she had just said, the smile evaporated. "Wait."

He grinned in a manner that could only be termed 'moronic'. "Gotcha."

"Are you trying to get me to break every bone in your body?" Rhana waved one of her hands wildly toward the rest of the bar. The other patrons all flinched as she moved, afraid that she would pummel one of them again. "Or are you blind? Have you just not seen what I've done to the other orcs here who have pissed me off?"

"I have, and I don't care." His mouth was several miles ahead of his mind, weighed down as it was by the amount of alcohol in his system, and he barely recognized exactly where it was going. "I'm not going to just leave you here."

"Why?" Her gaze could have sliced a man in half. "Why not leave me here? It certainly would be safer to steer clear of me. And don't give me any of that 'you did it for me' crap, I may be drunk out of my mind but I can still think well enough to remember that I didn't risk getting my skull cracked open to help you."

Before he could even think about how to respond, his mouth decided to cut his brain entirely out of the loop and voiced exactly what his heart sang. "Because I can't stand to see you suffer. Because I care about you."

Rhana froze. Her face softened and she cast her eyes back down at her drink. A faint blush crept into her checks as she smiled sheepishly and when she managed to speak her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Thank you."

He unconsciously leaned a bit closer to her as he strained to hear her and he opened his mouth to say that he was happy to help.

He never got the chance, because the moment he did her hands shot up and grabbed the sides of his head. A cry of protest was about to escape his mouth, thinking that she was about to bash his skull against the bar again, when she hauled him down toward her and silenced him with her lips.

She tasted like… well, like a decidedly unhealthy amount of ale that would be considered strong even by orcish standards. The kiss was clumsy, both of them weren't particularly well coordinated at the moment and though Lorkhan was small for an orc the difference in size certainly didn't help, to say nothing of the problems his stubby tusks caused. Still, neither was sober enough to care.

Her eyes remained shut as they parted and her hands dropped down to groggily snake their way around his chest, pulling them close together. Her head slowly drooped until it came to rest nestled in the space between his chin and his chest and she murmured something unintelligible before the tonnage of the ale Rhana had consumed caught up with her. Mere moments after sinking into his arms, sleep had claimed her.

Lorkhan's mind would have raced had it been able to, but the massive amount of alcohol that coursed through his system made that all but impossible. Eventually his brain just gave up and switched off the lights.

Sadly, in the drunken stupor, it forgot to file away this most recent development on its way out the door.

**Throne of the Elements, Nagrand**

Markov planted one of his hooves on Elementalist Untrag's corpse and pushed it off of Voidwrath, then turned and strolled over to Rhoon'mok, who held a badly beaten orcish shaman in one of his massive hands. One of the Ogre's heads muttered an arcane phrase and the orc was consumed by tendrils of blue flame, quickly reducing the shaman to a sad pile of ash that the blue skinned mage brushed off his hand.

The Broken general motioned to the water in Skysong Lake. "Now, if you would be so kind..."

Rhoon'mok's left head smiled and touched a finger to its nose. The other head, upon seeing this, swore under its breath before letting out a resigned sigh. The Ogre mage walked over to the shore of the lake and reached down with his right arm, brushing the crystal surface of the water with a single, fat finger. The right head muttered another arcane phrase and thick, black slime began oozing from the tip of his finger. The slime spread quickly throughout the lake and began flowing downstream toward Garadar.

Markov smiled. "Soon. Very soon."


	7. Check

Chapter Seven: Check

"_You have no idea what opposes you! You should have just laid down and died!" – Desther_

**Garadar, Nagrand – Day 3 of the Siege of Garadar**

Lorkhan dived to the ground as a white-hot boulder sailed over his head and smashed into the building in front of him. The structure collapsed inward on top of the stone and almost immediately caught on fire. The orc quickly got to his feet and kept running through the ruined streets of Garadar. The once proud home of the Mag'har was now a pale shadow of what it had been a week ago. Three days and nights of constant bombardment by the Kurenai had left Garadar pitted and scarred. The council chamber still stood, albeit not as steadily as it once had, and he hurried inside.

The floor of the council chambers was covered in ill orcs and dying warriors. Shamans moved from patient to patient and each looked ready to collapse from the strain of tending to the seemingly endless stream of wounded. In addition to those who had been injured in the fighting there were those who lay writhing in agony without a scratch on them. The afflicted bore no mundane wounds, but instead oozed blood from massive black pustules that were, at one point, their eyes. The first symptoms of the disease had begun cropping up shortly after the Kurenai began their siege. No one knew what was causing it, but it had claimed many Mag'har, warriors and civilians alike. Attempts to purge it had caused the swollen eyes of the ill to pop like balloons, leaving geysers of blood in their place that drained the victims dry.

Weaving his way through the shamans and their patients, he found the orc he was looking for. Jorin Deadeye was standing next to Greatmother Geyah at the center of the council chamber stooped over an immense circular table. No matter when the warrior saw him, Jorin was always thinking, planning, and plotting his next move. Once again the young orc wondered if his de facto superior ever slept.

The one-eyed orc was staring intently down at a map of Garadar when he realized that he had company. He looked up and managed a faint smile. "Ah, Lorkhan. What news from the west gate?"

"The Kurenai are bringing up another covered ram and the gate is just about ready to fall off its hinges. It won't be able to hold up long if the ram reaches it."

Jorin was about to respond when Garrosh stood and cut him off. "Have our demolishers smash the ram to splinters!"

The smaller orc did not even look at the Chieftain. He simply shook his head and spoke directly to Lorkhan. "No, we used the demolishers to destroy the last one only an hour ago. If we try to use them again before they are moved then the Kurenai catapults will zero in on their positions and annihilate them. The outer gate is not nearly as important as those demolishers. Return to the gate and tell Warden Bullrok that the demolishers will be in new positions and ready to fire again in another hour. Until then we need to hold the Kurenai at the gate, even if they manage to knock it down."

The Cheiftain fumed, he clenched his fists and his face contorted into a mask of rage. The orc looked ready to strike Jorin. "You dare challenge one of my orders?"

Deadeye turned and glared at him with his sole remaining eye. "I challenge more than that Garrosh. I do not believe you are intelligent enough to command the Mag'har."

The massive orc's hands flew to the handles of his axes and he brandished them menacingly. "Insolent whelp! I will skin you alive for that!"

"No Garrosh." Greatmother Geyah's words were as cold as ice. "I will not have you and Jorin fight while the Kurenai threaten us with extinction."

The Chieftain paused before pointing an accusing finger at Jorin. "They only made it to our doorstep because Deadeye let them!"

The Greatmother's face remained impassive, though her tone warmed slightly. "Whether that is true or not does not matter. What matters is that Jorin is correct at the moment." She turned to look at Lorkhan. "Do as he says."

The young warrior bowed. "Yes, Greatmother." He turned and left the council chambers as quickly as he could. Between the ill, the wounded, and particularly Garrosh, he found the chamber intolerable.

He hurried back to the west gate. The idea that Rhana and Obereth could be fighting for their lives at that very moment ate away at the back of his mind. Though he knew that both of them were some of the most skilled warriors he had ever seen, he still worried a great deal for their safety. When he arrived at the west gate, he was relieved to find that the Kurenai had yet to knock the gate down, though judging by how it splintered and cracked each time the ram struck it, it would not hold much longer.

Warden Bullrok, a hunched orc clad from head to toe in spiked plate mail, was waiting for him and immediately pressed him for the answer that he had been sent for. "What did Garrosh say?"

Lorkhan had to resist the urge to laugh at the idea of the lummox of a Cheiftain actually calling the shots. "_Deadeye_ says that the Demolishers will not be in their new positions for another hour."

"Damn." Bullrok turned to the hundred orcs who were clustered in the courtyard just behind the gate. "Maggots listen up! Those Draenei filth are going to knock this gate down any moment now, so let's give them a warm welcome!"

A chorus of roars and cheers greeted the Warden's words as the orcs drew their myriad weapons and steeled themselves against whatever might come through the gate.

Lorkhan walked down the line of warriors arrayed across the courtyard and stood next to Rhana and Obereth. The two smiled as he approached.

The shaman leaned over to speak with him over the din. "Five silver says the first things that come through that gate are Ogres."

"You don't actually expect anyone to take that do you?"

The west gate of Garadar shuddered under the force of the Kurenai ram. A spider web of cracks ran across its surface and it bulged inward more and more with each strike. Finally, with a mighty crash, it gave way and burst off its hinges. The gate splintered and broke into several pieces that were scatter across the courtyard. The destruction of the gate and the dispersal of its remains kicked up a cloud of dust that shrouded the opening in a thick brown cloud.

After a moment's pause a deafening roar issued forth from the cloud and a massive Ogre lunged forward out of the dust only to be met immediately by an arrow that whistled past Lorkhan's ear and embedded itself in the its neck. The young orc could not help but smile as he recognized Rhana's handiwork. The brute stumbled forward, collapsed, and was immediately trampled by other Ogres who rushed forth through the smashed gate.

The line of orcs answered the Ogres' roar with one of their own and surged forward. An Ogre wielding an absurdly large axe charged directly toward Lorkhan and swung the axe down at him. With allies on both sides and behind him, the young orc could only continue forward. He rolled past the axe swing, which slammed into the ground where he stood a moment before. He sprang to his feet and rammed his zweihander into the Ogre's stomach. It howled in pain and tried to bat its tormentor aside, but he dodged out of the way of the striking, ripping his sword from the Ogre's side in the process.

He jumped up and grabbed onto the Ogre's back. A massive hand reached back and tried to swat the orc, as if he were an annoying pest, but he scurried up the mountain of muscle out of the path of the hand. Taking his zweihander in one hand, a tall feet considering the size of the blade, Lorkhan raised the sword and rammed it into the Ogre's shoulder. The giant let lose an enraged bellow and reached up with it's oversized hand again, which this time found the orc and yanked him off. The Ogre threw him to the ground. He struck the dirt and a sickening crack filled his ears. The pain that shot through his chest seemed almost familiar and he was sure that he had broken his umpteenth rib.

He didn't have any time to think about it however. The Ogre ripped his zweihander from its shoulder and snarled like a beast as it brought the sword, which in its bloated hand was little more than a dagger, down toward him. The orc rolled out of the way and the blade planted itself in the ground. Drawing a knife from his belt, Lorkhan turned and rammed the viciously barded and hooked blade into the Ogre's hand.

The Ogre reeled in agony, releasing its grip on the zweihander and pulling back its hand. Unfortunately for it, Lorkhan's dagger remained jammed in its hand and the orc went with it. As the Ogre dragged him up off the ground, he hauled on the knife's handle and used it to fling himself at the giant's grotesque face. He drew a second knife as he sailed through the air and rammed it into one of the Ogre's eyes. It stumbled back, its hands moving up toward its face, the knife, and Lorkhan, but they never reached any of them. The Ogre toppled over backward and the triumphant orc proceeded to rip his knives from its corpse.

The fighting at the gate was bloody to say the least. Soon the ground was strewn with bodies and soaked with fresh blood. Only a few moments of unmitigated carnage had passed and already the dead outnumbered the living. The Mag'har, however, managed to hold. The gate funneled the oncoming attackers into a more manageable bunch that they could cut down piecemeal. After what seemed like an eternity, a massive ball of steel and spikes fell from the sky amongst the Kurenai. It exploded in a hail of flaming metal that ripped through the mob of enemies like tissue paper. When the smoke cleared the few remaining Broken and Ogres were slowly backing away until they finally turned and disappeared through the ruins of the west gate.

A puzzled expression crossed Rhana's face as she watched the Kurenai pass back through the gate. "They're backing off? Why?"

Lorkhan shrugged. "We managed to hold against the heaviest troops the Kurenai could throw at us." He calmly yanked his zweihander from the corpse of a fallen Broken. "Markov is patient. He's not going to rush things and risk taking more losses when he knows he can just sit back and wait."

A distant voice cut into their conversation. "Incoming!"

The Mag'har dived for cover as a massive boulder sailed over their heads. The rock smashed into a building not twenty yards from them and pulverized it. The structure toppled inward as if a colossal hand had reached out and crushed it. Boulders and Demolisher shells flew back and forth through the sky, raining destruction down upon each side.

Lorkhan's eyes narrowed. "Between those damn catapults and this plague that's going around he's already inflicting a lot of damage."

The sound of tramping feet caught his attention. He turned and beheld a solemn procession, at the head of which marched Garrosh Hellscream. Behind him walked just over a hundred particularly powerful and vicious orcs. The relatively small orc felt uneasy when he realized that they were marching toward the now open gate.

He stood and hurried to catch up to the Chieftain. "Garrosh, what are you doing?"

The enormous orc spun to face him and grabbed the smaller warrior by the collar. "Do not address me so casually whelp! Though Deadeye may have duped you and the disgusting creatures you call friends, I am still your Chieftain!" Garrosh pushed him back and released him.

Lorkhan quickly calmed himself. He had always prided himself on being more collected and in control than a normal orc, it was a trait he associated with Khazar and Jorin and wished to emulate for he knew that was what separated a true leader from an imitator like Garrosh.

"Of course Chieftain. May I ask what you are planning to do?"

A scoff greeted the question. "It should be obvious. While Deadeye may be content to cower here in Garadar, I intend to meet the Kurenai scum on the open field of battle. I, and all those who still have some shred of honor left, will charge out and take the fight to Markov."

The younger orc stood in shock, he could not believe what he was hearing. He hadn't thought that anyone, even Garrosh, could be so foolish. "But Chieftain, you and any who follow you will die."

"We are all as good as dead." The heavily built orc's eyes narrowed. "Jorin Deadeye made sure of that. At least this way we can meet our ends with our dignity intact." The Chieftain practically spat when he spoke the orc's name.

However, Lorkhan did not care how vehemently Garrosh despised Deadeye. Indeed, Jorin was precisely the one whom he needed to speak with, he had to tell him what Garrosh was doing so that he could stop him before precious lives were squandered. He turned and ran toward the council chambers.

He nearly stumbled over several wounded orcs as he rushed to Deadeye's side. "Jorin!"

Jorin Deadeye was in the exact spot that Lorkhan had left him, though a number of parchments covered large sections of the map he glared down at. "Yes, what is it?" The one-eyed orc did not look up at him and instead remained focused on the map.

Lorkhan struggled to catch his breath, though he managed to blurt out a few words. "Garrosh has taken a group of warriors to charge the Kurenai lines!"

The one-eyed orc remained unfazed. "This I know." He traced a finger along the bridges that crossed the western river that ran through Garadar. The depictions of the bridges vanished in an instant.

"You knew already and you're not trying to stop it?" Lorkhan was shocked by how calm and collect his superior was despite the disastrous news. "They'll be slaughtered!"

"Good." Jorin still did not look up, and instead tapped the map in several places, causing the icons of several buildings along the eastern bank of the western river to glow. "With Garrosh gone I will be able to take complete control of our armies and hopefully salvage this mess. As for the troops who follow him, only those fanatically loyal to Garrosh would even consider going with him and such warriors are no good to us anyway." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "I guess I should thank Markov and his lackeys for sparing me the trouble of getting rid of them."

The younger orc gapped at the answer. Was that it? Was Jorin going to sit back and watch Garrosh and countless others be slaughtered just so that he could have unchallenged authority? When he managed to collect his reeling thoughts, Lorkhan asked just that. "So you're going to let our own people die just to get them out of the way?"

"Yes."

He took a few steps back. Words escaped him. Jorin Deadeye, one of the few orcs whom he had believed able to save the Mag'har in their darkest hour, was now condemning many of them to die for nothing more than petty ambition. Lorkhan's eyes searched for Greatmother Geyah, sure that she would be able to convince Jorin of his folly, but they found her on the far side of the chamber aiding the shamans who tended the wounded and ill. She did not know what Jorin was, nor what he was planning. His mind immediately thought of Rhana and Obereth, how they needed to be warned of Jorin's willingness to throw their lives away. He turned and dashed out of the council chambers.

Jorin Deadeye did not look up, nor was he surprised when Lorkhan fled the chamber. He did not expect the young one to understand that what he had done, he did for all their sakes.

A faint voice broke his concentration. "He will understand in time." It was distant, and yet so very familiar.

"I'm sorry, my old friend." Jorin let his head lean back. He chuckled as he realized he was speaking with someone who was, in all likelihood, rotting out in an open field.

How long had it been since he had slept? Five, six years? Certainly not since the Red Pox. He wasn't even sure anymore. He had to be hallucinating, the raw eldritch power he used to sustain himself where others would simple drop dead from exhaustion was known to have that effect.

"I knowingly, willingly, and impenitently sent them to their deaths. I have gone against everything it means to be a Mag'har. I have thrown away the one thing that separated me from the likes of the Nether-cursed and the Twofaced. I have betrayed you, the Greatmother, Lorkhan, everyone."

"For their own good."

"I hope so, Khazar. I hope so."

**Kurenai Siege Lines, Nagrand**

Markov lowered the spyglass from his eye, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What in the nether are they doing?"

Lantrestor the Blade squinted in the direction of the mass moving out of Garadar. "It looks like they're charging us."

"Are they really that stupid?" He waved a mutated hand in the direction of the Kurenai lines, which stretched for what seemed like miles. "We outnumber that paltry force more than fifteen to one."

Each of Rhoon'mok's massive hands rubbed his corresponding chin in thought before he smiled. "I remember you once told me 'The professionals are predictable, it's the amateurs who are dangerous.' Well this looks like the work of an amateur to me."

The Broken general raised the spyglass to his eye again, as if he needed to be sure he hadn't imagined the group of orcs running directly toward the siege lines. Sure enough, they were still there when he looked again.

"It looks like the work of an amateur because it's an unbelievably stupid move."

Markov the Nether-cursed, Lantrestor the Blade, and Rhoon'mok the Twofaced stood in silence for some time before the Broken spoke again.

"Well, I guess someone's going to have to go out there and deal with them."

Rhoon'mok looked down at his compatriots, confused by the statement. It was obvious, why had Markov thought it needed to be said? The expression on his face shifted to one of mild frustration when he saw that both Lantrestor and Markov had touched a finger to their noses.

"Damn."

The Ogre mage let out an exasperated sigh before walking off down the siege lines. He focused intently on the image of a group of warriors whose tabards bore a golden V over the crimson insignia of the Kurenai. His thoughts narrowed into a blade that cut the very fabric of reality, creating a gap through which his mind sent four words.

_Fifth company, to me._

In an instant a piece of the siege line ahead slid out of its position and marched toward him. Rhoon'mok turned and began walking toward Garadar and the orcs that were running headlong into their graves. The troops he had called forward quickly fell in behind him.

_Spread out in a line set eight deep. Ogres front and center, Lost Ones on the ends, and Broken behind._

The company of warriors at his back immediately responded to his thoughts, arranging themselves into the formation he envisioned. Rhoon'mok smiled as the orcs approached. They howled their mightiest war cries and bellowed threats of disembowelment. The Ogre mage replied by holding out one of his hands, sending a jet of blue fire from his palm into the mass of orcs. The flames eagerly devoured a dozen of the foolish warriors, reducing their flesh to black cinders.

The orcs did not falter and sped toward the Kurenai lines. The first orcs to reach them, however, were casually swatted aside by the massive clubs of Ogres more than twice their size. Rhoon'mok waded into the fray, crushing orc after orc under his feet. The orcs fought like cornered animals, mindlessly feral creatures that had lost all sense. the Ogre mage chuckled as he scooped up one of the struggling orcs and crushed its head in one of his enormous fists. Chanting arcane words that flowed off his tongues like water, he hefted the corpse he held. Wisps of grey smoke began streaming out of the headless body and its skin bubbled and hissed. Rhoon'mok smiled and threw the body at a nearby cluster of orcs. It sailed through the air and when it struck its former comrades it exploded in a shower of black puss. The slime stuck to the other orcs and promptly began devouring their flesh.

Rhoon'mok surveyed the carnage. In his mind's eye he could see the far ends of his company looping around and wrapping the mob of orcs in a deadly embrace. The Lost Ones he had placed there were slicing through the Mag'har flank with unfathomable glee, at which the two-headed mage literally smiled to himself. They made an excellent hammer for the anvil that was his line of Ogres.

He was jarred from his thoughts by an enraged voice that came from somewhere below his field of vision. "Fight me coward!"

He looked down and chuckled when he found what had challenged him. It was a relatively large, though still quite puny by Ogre standards, orc who was hacking away with a pair of axes. The axes, however, never touched the blue-skinned giant. Whenever they approached him, the air between the blade and his body ignited in a flash of azure flame that forced the axe back.

The Ogre held out his palm and reached out with his mind. "Me? Fight you? Don't make me laugh." The orc rose from the ground where he stood and hung suspended in the air, still flailing away with his axes. "An insignificant speck like you isn't worth the effort."

The furious orc threw one of his axes at Rhoon'mok, though a flash of blue flame brought it to a halt and sent it clattering to the ground. "Insignificant? Impudent vermin! Do you not know with whom you speak? You should be groveling at my feet!"

The blue giant smirked. In fact he did recognize the struggling orc. "You are Garrosh, son of Hellscream, Chieftain of the Mag'har." The Ogre mage's smile widened. "And you are also the one responsible for their imminent annihilation."

Garrosh threw his remaining axe at the Ogre, though it met the same fate as the first. "Stop mocking me swine!"

"As you wish."

The Mag'har Chieftain burst into flames. The ravenous blue inferno burned away his flesh and boiled his blood. Rhoon'mok clenched his hand into a fist and the burning orc imploded, leaving a tiny reddish brown sphere hovering in the air. The Ogre mage calmly reached out, plucked the speck from the air, and popped it into his right mouth. His right head idly chewed while his left searched the battlefield for new victims.

**Garadar, Nagrand – Day 18 of the Siege of Garadar**

Du'ga stared in awe at pillars of smoke that rose from Garadar. White-hot boulders sporadically flew in and out of the ruined fortress as arrows sailed through the air. The troll spurned his Wyvern onward, making a beeline toward the largest of the smashed buildings. The council chambers of Garadar had seen better days, large portions had crumbled under the relentless pounding of Kurenai catapults and other sections had since burned to the ground. The bridges ahead, that crossed the western of the two rivers that passed through Garadar, had been smashed.

As he cruised over Garadar, Du'ga could see, far below him, tiny specks fighting in the streets, courtyards, and back alleys in the western section of the fortress. One figure, however, stood out from the rest. It was large, much larger than any orc, troll, or even tauren, and was a sickening shade of blue. Du'ga squinted down at the blue speck and his eyes widened in horror as he realized it had two heads.

Du'ga hauled back on the reins of his Wyvern, trying to coax every bit of altitude he could out of the beast. As he climbed, tendrils of azure flame shot up and ensnared his Wyvern, which let out a terrified screech. Its screech quickly became a gurgle as the blaze constricted around it and ravenously devoured its flesh. The charred corpse of the Wyvern fell from the sky, dragging Du'ga down with it.

From a ruined building on the eastern bank of the west most river, a pair of brown eyes watched the Wyvern plummet and smash into the wreckage of a home to the east. The eyes belonged to a Mag'har orc, who jumped down from his perch in the rafters of the crumbling house and landed next to two others.

Obereth and Rhana turned to look at Lorkhan, who pointed east. "That Wind Rider went down not to far from here. If we hurry we can reach him before the Kurenai."

The shaman shook his massive head. "Deadeye ordered us to remain here."

The orc glared at the tauren. "Jorin is a monster. I told you before, he sent Garrosh and the orcs loyal to him to die just to solidify his own powerbase."

"Regardless of his motivation Deadeye has made intelligent, if cold, decisions so far. If you wish to disobey orders then go." Obereth raised one of his hands and a swirling vortex of white energy sprouted from his palm, bathing the two before him in light. The glow made them each feel light as a feather. "I will remain here."

Lorkhan turned to the elf at his side. "And you, Rhana?"

Rhana nodded. "If that Wind Rider survived then he is going to need our help. I'm going." Lorkhan strode out of the destroyed building and she moved to follow him, but stopped. She looked back at Obereth and her brow furrowed, sending an accusing glare in his direction that matched the tone in her voice. "You don't actually believe any of that stuff about following Deadeye's orders. You just want to leave me and Lorkhan alone together."

Obereth smiled at the comment and made no attempt to object. "And you don't actually believe the Wind Rider is still alive or that you actually can reach his remains before the Kurenai. You just want to go with Lorkhan."

Rhana threw her arms up in frustration. "This is ridiculous! You too? Has the world gone insane?"

One of the tauren's enormous eyebrows rose at the question. "Me too?"

"Eldrath thinks..." Rhana paused and the expression on her face darkened. The slip of the tongue brought to the forefront memories that she would prefer remained buried. "... thought that I have feelings for Lorkhan."

Obereth reached out and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, kneeling down to look her in the eyes. His face bore his trademark comforting smile. "Not thought, knew."

She backed away from him and once again threw her arms up. "That's absurd! Why would I have anything more than simple respect for Lorkhan?" Rhana crossed her arms and glared back at him. "Besides, he's an orc. I don't understand how you, or Eldrath, could be so thickheaded as to believe that I consider him anything more than a friend."

The wizened shaman's smile widened into a grin. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." He began chuckling as Rhana's hands balled into fists and she cried out in rage before turning and storming out after Lorkhan.

The orc was waiting for her at the riverbank. He didn't ask her why she had fallen behind. His mind jumped to the obvious conclusion, that she had tried to convince Obereth to come with them and that he had refused rather adamantly. It certainly would explain why she looked so frustrated. Lorkhan and Rhana hurried out across the surface of the water, their feet just barely skimming the surface thanks to Obereth's spell. The reached the western bank without incident and began slowly moving through the ruins toward where Lorkhan had seen the Wind Rider crash.

"Rhana?"

"Yes?"

He paused for an exceedingly awkward moment as he worked up the nerve to ask a question that had been eating at him since the battle on the Spirit Fields. "Who was Talec?"

Rhana froze. Her head whirled to face Lorkhan and her eyes shot him a look of cold rage that it terrified him. In a moment she managed to calm herself enough that Lorkhan no longer feared for his life, though when she spoke it was through gritted teeth. "I don't want to talk about it."

The startled orc backed up and tried to stammer out an apology. "I–"

She cut him off, her voice like the hiss of a furious serpent. "I said I don't want to talk, so shut it! We all have painful memories that we don't like to have dredged up! I do, Obereth does, and even you do!" Her eyes narrowed and her face contorted into an expression of utter contempt. "How would you like it if I brought up how you failed Khazar in his time of greatest need?"

Her words were like a sharp twist on the dagger through his heart. The warrior cast his eyes down, to ashamed to meet her accusing gaze. The two stood in silence for some time. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt smooth and slender fingers graze his cheek. They traced their way down his jaw line and gently lifted his chin. The face he beheld bore a look of pained regret and sorrow. Rhana's eyes silently pleaded for forgiveness and all the malice in them had fled.

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's not your fault, you had no way of knowing that I would react like that." She slowly sat down on a piece of rubble and paused, collecting herself, before she looked up at Lorkhan, who stood by her in silence. "Where did you hear that name anyway?"

The warrior shifted nervously before answering. "I overheard Eldrath talking to you back on the Spirit Fields. He mentioned it."

Rhana leaned her back and she smiled, savoring what was by far her most pleasant memory. "Talec was... a friend. We grew up together in Quel'thalas. He was an alchemist, one of the best, and an up-and-coming mage." Her smile broadened and she let out a quiet chuckle. "He thought it was dull, though, and he would always gobble up the stories I would tell him about training as a Farstrider." A change washed over her face as the memory twisted into a nightmare. "And then he died. He died before I could tell him that..." An uncharacteristic choke caused her to falter, though she tried to press on through her misery. "That I..."

Her voice trailed off the sheer weight of the abject despair the memory carried with it crushed her will to continue. The elf's brilliant eyes, which had begun shimmer as she spoke, now seemed to dim. Where once sat a bastion of stubborn confidence now hung a well empty of all but grief, as if her very soul had been hollowed out leaving nothing but a shell behind.

Lorkhan knelt down beside her, unable to simply watch her suffer. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to–"

A hand shot up and quickly waved him off. "No, it's alright." She closed her eyes and gave her head a small shake. When her eyes opened again they were cold and emotionless. She stood and immediately began walking off through the ruins. "We should hurry, that Wind Rider crashed just down this way."

The young orc watched her walk away and let out a resigned sigh. He slowly rose and followed her. The two moved through the smoldering remnants of Garadar until they came to a collapsed home near where Lorkhan had seen the Wind Rider crash. Lying on the ground, amongst the rubble, was a badly maimed troll. A long, thick smear of blood that ran from the troll's body and out of the building indicated that he had dragged himself, or had been dragged, there.

"He's still alive."

He turned and looked at Rhana as if she were insane. Between the crash and the amount of blood that coated the ground, he couldn't believe that there was any way that the troll had survived. When he stopped for a moment and listened, however, he could hear a very faint, ragged breathing coming from the body and could see its chest rise and fall. "He won't be for much longer if we don't get to him soon."

The elf pointed across to the other side of the ruined building. "We have company."

Lorkhan's eyes followed to where she pointed and saw what she meant. A group of Broken, each wearing the crimson tabard of the Kurenai, was moving through the wreckage toward the troll.

She notched an arrow and took aim. "Get the rider, I'll keep them occupied."

The orc broke from his hiding place and sprinted toward the wounded troll. An arrow whizzed over his head and was quickly greeted by the sounds of shouting. A constant stream of arrows flowed forth from where Rhana hid and rained down upon the Kurenai. He reached the troll and stooped down, hefting him up and slinging him over his shoulder. The troll was surprisingly light, a trait which probably served the Wind Rider well, and Lorkhan had no difficulty carrying him out of the wrecked building. Rhana followed him out shortly thereafter, firing arrows at the Broken as she fled.

The two hurried back across the river and darted behind cover. Lorkhan set the troll down and placed a pair of fingers to his neck, then glanced over at Rhana. "His pulse is weak, he's lost a lot of blood. He'll die soon if we don't get him to a healer."

"The council chambers are not too far, and there are a number of healers within."

He nodded and picked the troll back up. After a short run through the pitted and cratered streets of Garadar, the two reached the council chambers. The number of ill had drastically increased since he had last entered the chamber, though the number of wounded was disturbingly low. The stench of burnt corpses hung in the air and Lorkhan lay down the troll on one of the few patches of open floor. "I need a healer, this man is badly wounded!"

"Calm yourself, young one, I shall help him." He turned to see one who had spoken and found himself facing a burly orcish shaman. He recognized him as Margadesh, one of the Lightning Sons. The shaman kneeled beside the troll and held out his hands. Green energy arced forth from Margadesh's palms and enveloped the troll's wounds. The countless lacerations across his body sealed themselves and his fractured bones settled back into place.

The troll's eyes slowly slid open before he sat bolt upright, an expression of panic on his deep blue face. When the troll spoke it was in an accent so thick that the orcs could barely understand him. "Deadeye! I mus' speak wit' Jorin Deadeye!"

A hand suddenly clamped down on Lorkhan's shoulder. He nearly jumped and turned to see who had snuck up on him. He found him facing directly at Jorin Deadeye, who glared back at him with his sole eye. The look on his face was one the younger orc easily interpreted as a stern 'we'll talk later.' He then turned to look down at the troll. "I am he, what is it?"

"Ma name be Du'ga an I be bear'n a message from Shadow 'unter Denjai. D'ree regiments be march'n sout' from Zabra'jin and will be 'ere 'tore da day be out." The troll looked around, scanning the ground and tables near him. "Where be ma pack?"

Lorkhan did not remember finding a pack with the rider. He shrugged. "Probably back where you crashed and, in all likelihood, the Kurenai have it now."

"Dare be a letta in dare say'n wut I jus' toed ja."

The orc's eyes widened as he realized what that meant. "And now Markov has it."

Deadeye's face remained impassive, though his voice was so cold it could chill the bravest warrior to the bone. "Meaning he's going to stop fooling around and finish us off."

**Kurenai Siege Lines, Nagrand**

Markov the Nether-cursed lowered the parchment that the blue-skinned Ogre who stood at his side had handed to him. The Broken general's eye narrowed and his brow furrowed. He turned to the enormous mage. "Rhoon'mok, you have never disappointed me, not in all the years I fought alongside you and certainly not in the ones I fought against you. I have complete faith in your ability to crush the last of the Mag'har before those reinforcements get here."

Rhoon'mok the Twofaced nodded and began walking out toward Garadar. As he calmly strode forward, over a thousand Broken, Ogres and Lost Ones, the majority of the Kurenai army, followed in his wake.


	8. Alekhine's Gun

Chapter Eight: Alekhine's Gun

"_Valjean, at last, we see each other plain. Monsieur Le Mayor, you wear a different chain." – Inspector Javert_

**Garadar, Nagrand**

Jorin Deadeye suddenly snapped out of his usual calm. He grabbed Lorkhan by the shoulders and shook him. The younger warrior was startled by the move, and even more so when he saw the panic that radiated from the one-eyed orc's face.

"What are you waiting for? Get back to your post! The Kurenai will mount a full scale assault within moments if they haven't already!"

Lorkhan hesitantly turned and began walking out of the council chambers, though when he saw Rhana race past him he broke into a run. Off in the distance he could see the western river that flowed through Garadar. The bridges that spanned it had long since been burned, and the Mag'har's archers and remaining Demolishers had made short work of the Kurenai's halfhearted attempts to cross it. On the far side of the river, however, he could make out a large shape moving to the water's edge. It was a sickly shade of blue and a pair of heads sat on its shoulders. As it strode forward, a hail of arrows shot forth from the Mag'har positions along the eastern bank and sailed toward the figure, but not a single one reached it. Each and every one, before striking the shape, was consumed in a brilliant flash of azure flame.

A Demolisher concealed in the ruins loosed a massive spiked metal ball at the figure. The explosive laden projectile flew through the air and screamed down toward the blue speck in the distance. As it fell, however, it slowed to a halt just above the figure. Suddenly, it shot back upward, retracing the same arc that it had followed before. The spiked ball smashed into the Demolisher that had lobed it, crushing the war machine before exploding in a torrent of fire and shrapnel.

As the figure across the river reached the western riverbank and Lorkhan ran closer, the orc could more clearly see what had single-handedly repulsed everything the Mag'har could throw at it. It was an Ogre that he recognized as the one from the Laughing Skull ruins that had accompanied Markov. It bent down and brushed the surface of the river with one of its enormous hands. The water that its pudgy finger touched instantly froze solid and a thick sheet of ice spread across the river. The Ogre began slowly walking across the ice and a veritable sea of warriors flowed across the newly formed bridge with it.

Lorkhan and Rhana sprinted through the streets of Garadar toward where they had left Obereth. The two rounded a corner just in time to be nearly knocked down by orcs running the other way.

The young orc jumped back as Warden Bullrok rushed past him. The older, heavily armored orc skidded to a halt and turned to the two. The warden's plate armor had been singed black and the left half of his face was horribly charred. His breathing was labored and he winced when he spoke. "Their numbers are too great. We must fall back to the council chambers."

The two of them, however, weren't about to turn and run. "Where's Obereth?"

As if fate itself wished to answer the question, the shaman's hunched body crashed through the wall of a building several blocks down the street and skidded to a halt on the rubble-strewn ground. Into the gapping hole left in the building stepped the blue Ogre, who wore a sadistic grin on both its faces and a wreath of brilliant blue flame around an outstretched hand. A jet of azure fire shot forth from the Ogre's palm and arced toward Obereth, who was struggling back to rise to his feet. The tauren, as the flame sped toward him, threw to the side one of the many totems he carried. It pulsed as it flew through the air and the gout of flame curved to follow it. The totem was quickly reduced to ash as the fire consumed it and left little more than a black smear in the dirt.

Rhoon'mok scoffed at the act and merely wreathed his hands in blue flame again. By now Obereth had regained his footing and stomped the ground with one of his hooves. A wave ran through the dirt and raced toward the Ogre, bursting forth from the street as a jagged slab of rock. The stone, before it could reach the blue-skinned mage, slammed headlong into a barrier of thin air with a resonating noise like a gong and crumbled into a pile worthless debris.

The Ogre smiled and just as before the blue flame leapt from his hands. This time the shaman could only dive to the side as the ravenous inferno shot past him, though a lash of flame reached out and stroked his right shoulder as it passed. He stumbled and crashed to the ground as the hide on his shoulder quickly disintegrated. Rhoon'mok casually strolled over to where the tauren lay struggling, and this time failing, to stand. Both of the blue giant's heads flashed wide, maniacal grins and it raised its hands, wreathing them in flame for a third time.

However, before the final blow was stuck, a brilliant flash of blue flame next to the Rhoon'mok's heads distracted them both. A second arrow flew down the street and was consumed by fire shortly before it would have lodged itself in his right neck. The Ogre only turned one of his heads to look down the road, where Rhana stood volleying arrows at him. Into his view jumped Lorkhan, who sailed through the air toward the mage's heads, his zweihander raised high above his head as he lunged.

The head that faced him looked at him as if he were a gnat, a mere annoyance, and gave the orc a dismissive wave of his chubby hand. A ripple shot through the air and crashed into Lorkhan, sending him spiraling down into the ground. Rhoon'mok was about to turn back to Obereth and finish what he started when another arrow vaporized next to his head.

Both of the Ogre's heads let out a sigh and turned to glare at Rhana. "That is getting very annoying."

She smiled as she notched another arrow. "That's kind of the idea."

He smirked and turned toward her, leaving aside the prone forms of the elf's comrades and barreling down the street at her. The arrows she loosed at him did not slow the blue juggernaut as it bore down on her, merely meeting the same fate as all their predecessors. However, before she was crushed under the giant's feet, Rhana stooped down and dropped a small metal circle on the ground. As the massive Ogre was about to trample her, she sprang forward and vaulted over Rhoon'mok, who rushed by beneath her and onto the metal circle. The trap snapped shut and engulfed the mage in a sudden flash of bone chilling frost, freezing him in a solid block of ice.

She rushed to Lorkhan's side and helped him to his feet. "That won't hold him forever. Let's get the hell out of here."

By the time the ice that encased Rhoon'mok had weakened enough for him to break free his quarry were long gone. The Ogre frowned, he had been looking forward to killing that tauren. He could see in his mind's eye the Kurenai under his command fanning out from where they had crossed the river.

_Converge on the council chambers and keep an eye out for a tauren, an orc, and elf. Signal me if you spot them._

His heads smiled as an image of the three appeared before his mind's eye. They had rejoined their comrades and were slowly being pushed back toward the council chambers by the Kurenai vanguard. He made a mental note of the position of the soldier whose eyes he had hijacked. They hadn't gotten very far.

The Ogre chuckled to himself as he strode to catch up with his advancing warriors. "I can see you when you're sleeping. I know when you're awake. I know if you've been bad or good, so you might as well just lie down and die."

Lorkhan spotted the blue giant as he approached. "Damn. That thing just can't take a hint."

Obereth looked up from the bloody smear that had been a Kurenai warrior until it had become thoroughly acquainted with the shaman's mace and shook his head. "We can't take him, we need to fall back."

Rhana loosed another arrow, which imbedded itself in the neck of an oncoming Kurenai. However, for every warrior her arrows brought down, another rushed forward to take its place making the volley seem like a futile gesture. "We're running out of places to fall back to."

The young orc motioned to the doorway behind him. "Quickly, back into the council chambers."

The few remaining Mag'har defenders turned and dashed back into the ruined chamber. Obereth slammed the massive door in the faces of the advancing Kurenai and swung a steel bar down to block the door before taking a few cautious steps back. The door violently budged inward, causing all inside to flinch. The wood and metal creaked and screamed in protest, but held fast. The moments passed and those who stood watching the doorway breathed a sigh of relief.

The act was, however, premature. A fat, blue fist, wreathed in flame, smashed it's way through the heavy wooden door. The fire consumed the remains of the door in a blinding flash of blue light. When the smoke cleared, the defenders could see, standing in the doorway, a blue and black Ogre that wore on both its faces a terrifying grin.

Lorkhan raised his zweihander. "Well, it certainly has been nice knowing all of you."

"Fear not, child, for this is not the end."

He turned as he felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder. He turned to see the warm face of Greatmother Geyah smiling back at him. The wizened orc woman was doing something that few Mag'har were old enough to remember seeing before. She was standing. And yet, at the same time she was not standing. Lorkhan looked down and saw that her feet barely scraped the ground. The Greatmother gently nudged him aside and floated toward the Ogre mage who stood in the doorway.

"As for you, Twofaced, there shall be a reckoning for your sins."

Rhoon'mok began to chuckle and raised his immolated hand. The blue fire that encircled the arm leapt forward. The jet of flame shot toward Greatmother Geyah and the other Mag'har all rushed to try and protect her from it, but Geyah herself did not flinch. The fire suddenly lurched to a halt in front of the wizened orc's face, where it sat writhing in a ball, lashing out toward the orc but never striking her.

The Ogre mage immediately stopped chuckling and the Mag'har froze in shock. The Greatmother slowly reached forward and stroked the blue inferno as if it were an adorable pet. The flame, seemingly responding to her tender touch, calmed and the tendrils of flame that flailed wildly withdrew into the tight ball from which they emerged. As they did, the fire began to ripple and distort, shifting in color from an unearthly blue to a warm, comforting reddish orange.

Greatmother Geyah smiled and glared at Rhoon'mok and the Kurenai who stood behind him. She spoke seven words that reverberated throughout the council chambers, nearly deafening all those present with their thunderous power.

"Storm, earth, and fire, heed my call."

The sky darkened and a fierce wind ripped through the ruined halls of the council chambers. The Kurenai who stood behind Rhoon'mok were blown off their feet and down into the clearing in front of the half collapsed structure. Even the massive Ogre was slowly pushed back by the relentless wind. The shower of rocks and splinters that the gale whipped up cut into his blue skin and the chill flash froze the blood that oozed from his veins. The flame that the Greatmother had seemingly tamed shot back toward the Ogre and began eagerly devouring his flesh as Rhoon'mok staggered back out of the council chambers and Geyah floated after him. Lorkhan and the other Mag'har wandered along with her, dumbstruck by the sheer power their previously sickly leader manipulated without the slightest hint of effort.

Brilliant white lightening arced down from the gathering clouds and pounded mercilessly at Rhoon'mok. He howled in pain, though the roar of the wind and thunder drowned his cries out. Greatmother Geyah raised one of her hands and, with a simple gesture, lifted the enormous Ogre off his feet and sent him tumbling through the air, still on fire and still racked by bolt after bolt of lightning. The orc clenched her outstretched hand into a fist and yanked it back, dragging the flailing Ogre back toward her feet. A massive stone spike burst from the ground in front of the Greathmother and Rhoon'mok landed squarely on it. The spike punched clean through his chest and burst out of his back, bringing the falling mage to a halt. An expression of shock and abject terror remained frozen on both of his faces and Rhoon'mok slowly exhaled his last breath through the gaping hole that had once been his chest.

The Kurenai in the clearing faltered. Without the Twofaced's reassuring voice in their heads they felt fear for the first time in weeks. Leaderless and terrified, they turned and fled. Greatmother Geyah lazily waved one of her hands and the bridge of ice that the Kurenai rushed toward broke apart. Each piece slowly rose and sculpted itself into a vaguely humanoid shape that wielded all manner of frozen weapons. As the warriors of ice advanced on and began methodically butchering the retreating Kurenai, the Greatmother's mouth curled weakly into a smile before her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she collapsed.

Lorkhan and the other Mag'har rushed to her side. He looked down at Geyah, who tried to gaze back, but only one of her eyes managed to slide down into view. The young orc stuttered, as shocked by the display of raw, elemental power as by her subsequent collapse. "Hh-how?"

Greatmother Geyah smiled back at him. "Child, one does not get to be my age... without learning a few tricks..." Her voice trailed off and her eye rolled back out of sight.

Another orc knelt at her side. Lorkhan recognized him as Elkay'gan the Mystic, who, up until a few moments ago, he had thought to be the single most powerful shaman among the Mag'har. Elkay'gan placed one of his massive hands on the side of the Greatmother's neck, then onto her forehead. He slowly shook his head and his hand slid down over her eyes, closing them.

**Kurenai Siege Lines, Nagrand**

Markov, who had for the last few moments stood looking out across the open field at Garadar, began walking at a brisk pace toward the ruined city.

A particularly badly scarred Lost One quickly rushed to his side. "Sir, where are you going?"

"I'm going to the front to take command of the battalion there."

The Lost One might have frowned, though its mouth was so heavily deformed that it could not. "But Rhoon'mok..."

The Nether-cursed cut him off without even turning to look at the Lost One. "Rhoon'mok is dead, I could feel his passing. The troops in Garadar will be slaughtered without someone in charge."

One of the Lost One's hideously mutated hands shot out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking the Broken general to a halt. Markov shot a glare at his subordinate. Had the warrior been anything but a Lost One he would have drawn Voidwrath and lopped off the offending hand without a second thought. The Lost Ones, however, were the only soldiers he did not consider slime. They understood him, respected him, and, above all else, they felt the same pain. He would never throw that away, no matter how bruised his ego was.

"Sir, there's no time. Look." The Lost One pointed to the north, where Markov could see, rising over Zangar Ridge, a wall of warriors.

Emblazoned on the rough red fabric of the approaching banners was a near universal symbol. It was the symbol of Blackhand's Horde, of Doomhammer's Horde, and now of Thrall's Horde. It was a symbol that had been used by the orcs for as long as even the Nether-cursed could remember and, to the denizens of Draenor, it was a symbol that had brought with it untold suffering.

Markov's face remained impassive, as if unfazed by the development. "Signal our forces to retreat. We're pulling back to Halaa."

The Lost One bowed to the Broken before turning and walking back to the siege line. Moments later a series of colored flares shot up into the air and burst in a massive flash high in the sky. The line slowly packed itself up and began the short march back to Halaa.

It was not until he was certain that no one was actively watching him that Markov began to quiver and a low growl issued from his throat. He clenched his fists until his claws drew blood from his palms. "So close... I was so very close..."

**Halaa, Nagrand – The Next Morning**

Lorkhan looked out across the Halaani Basin. In the center of the valley rose a spire of rock atop which stood the research outpost of Halaa. Four bridges spread out like a compass rose and linked the pinnacle to the ridges along the basin's rim.

He turned to look at the others who stood at his side. "It seems like just yesterday we had left this place behind."

"Well, we're back." Rhana scowled, her sharp elven features contorting into a harsh and pitiless mask. "And we're going to make that bastard pay for what he's done."

The orc nodded and remained silent for some time before he turned to Jorin Deadeye, who was staring very intently at a strange goblin device. It looked like a tiny metal circle with numbers along the rim with metal needles pointing to them. The needles moved from number to number with an annoyingly loud tick.

"So," he finally said, "what's the plan?"

Deadeye looked up from the contraption. "The plan is simple. We outnumber Markov more than three to one and most of the troops he has are the crews of siege engines that will be useless inside the outpost itself. We will roll in across the northern, western, and eastern bridges simultaneously on my signal. Even Markov cannot stand against those odds, not after losing the Twofaced and some of his best warriors in Garadar."

Lorkhan's brow furrowed in confusion and doubt crept into his words. "Markov must know that, though. If we attack he will turn and flee across the southern bridge."

The one-eyed orc smiled at the younger's words. He pointed to one of the bridges that spanned the gap between the basin's rim and Halaa. "Oh, you mean that bridge?"

His eyes followed Jorin's hand and gazed at the bridge. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light consumed it and a deafening roar assaulted his ears. He raised his hands in front of his face to shield his eyes from the light. Deadeye, however, did not flinch. His smile widened and he slipped the device he held into the depths of his robes.

Words escaped Lorkhan as he lowered his arms. The bridge had vanished, leaving behind nothing more than a plume of grey smoke and a shower of splinters. He managed to blurt out the question that his mind screamed. "How?"

"Among the troops that arrived from Zabra'jin was a goblin sapper team. I had them work on that bridge last night." Joirn's smile faded into a scowl. "We may be paying through the nose for their services, but it will be worth it if we can end Markov's wretched life once and for all." He turned to Rhana, who stood staring off at Halaa. He walked over to where the elf stood and held out an arrow for her. The arrowhead had been wrapped in a damp cloth that stank of oil. "If you would be willing to do the honors..."

Rhana slowly reached out and took the arrow from Deadeye. The latter snapped his fingers and the pitch burst into flames. The farstrider notched the arrow and loosed it high into the air.

Jorin turned back toward Lorkhan. "The other regiments will take that as their cue to move in. Let's go."

The combined Mag'har and Horde forces, nearly three and a half thousand strong, stormed across the bridges into Halaa. Lorkhan, Obereth, and Rhana rushed in at the front of the force that crossed the eastern bridge. The Kurenai, Ogres, and Lost Ones who stood against them were buried under the oncoming tide of bodies. However the trio did not care about Kurenai or Ogres, the grunts could deal with them. They were looking for a certain Broken, and nothing would stand between them and vengeance.

They found their quarry exactly where they expected him to be; at the Kurenai command post, an old Draenei building that had served as a church until the Blood Elves, and then Markov, had moved in.

The Nether-cursed glared at the three as they barged into his war room, and recognition flickered across his twisted face as his gaze settled on Lorkhan. He turned to the massive blademaster who stood next to him. "Lantrestor, deal with the others. This one is mine."

Rhana fumed and notched an arrow, aiming it directly at the Broken general. "I don't think so. I won't sit on the sidelines, not after what you did to Eldrath. Your head is mine."

Before she could loose the arrow, Lantrestor rushed her and batted the bow to the side. The arrow shot off in a wild direction and embedded itself in a wall. The huge orc grabbed the elf by the throat and shook her violently before casually tossing her out the church door. Obereth lunged at him, but the orc grabbed the tauren by the horns and guided him aside and headlong into a wall. The wizened shaman slammed into the thick stone with a sickening crunch and collapsed.

The blademaster chuckled but was cut short when an arrow lodged itself in his right shoulder. With a grunt he snapped the shaft off with one hand and with the other drew his massive sword, a weapon so large it could have been a pole arm, then turned and rushed out the door after Rhana.

Lorkhan felt the urge to go after them, to help Rhana, but a part of his brain struck the thought from his mind. He turned toward Markov and raised his zweihander. Fate had given him a second chance to avenge Khazar, and he was not about to pass it up.

Markov smiled as he saw Lantrestor leave. "Well that worked out quite nicely." The smile turned downward into a menacing glower. He drew Voidwrath from its sheath and as the Black Blade of Sin flared to life the room visibly darkened. "You're going to pay for what happened to Rhoon'mok."

Lorkhan tightened his grip on his zweihander. The two combatants squared off, though neither seemed to be willing to make the first move. The warrior had learned not to rush headlong at Markov since their fight at the Laughing Skull ruins and the general was, if anything, patient.

The silence was broken by a voice that whispered in Lorkhan's ear. "Tell him that he failed at Karabor." It was soft and ghostly, distant yet at the same time familiar.

The orc's eyes darted about the room and when they found no one but the Nether-cursed he began to think that he was losing his mind. "What the– Who are you?" Markov appeared to have not heard the voice, though he might have and was simply not distracted by it.

"That is not important. I'm a friend, that is all that matters. Now tell him." The voice spoke with a calm, fatherly tone that Lorkhan had a hard time defying.

He put on his best smirk as he spoke. "Why are you angry at me? You killed him. You sent him to his death. You failed him, just like you did at Karabor."

Markov's only eye widened and his face twisted into a mask of rage. The Broken let loose a roar that could terrify any mortal, demon, dragon, or deity. A chill shot down the orc's spine and his stomach tightened up into a miniscule ball, all of the muscles in his body tensing as the howl reverberated through the church. Lorkhan mind was suddenly tugged back to the dawn at Clan Watch when Khazar had died, he had heard the same demonic roar on that day. Markov lunged forward, swinging Voidwrath down in a long, tall arc. While the attack was fast and had an absurd amount of momentum behind it, Lorkhan saw it coming and sidestepped the strike. The Broken general dived passed him and Voidwrath slammed into the ground, leaving a sizeable crack in the stone floor.

Again the voice spoke in his ear. "Good, now run."

"What?"

"Run!"

Markov snarled like a rabid beast and whipped his sword around, slashing wildly at Lorkhan. The orc managed to dodge most of the swings, but when he tried to block one he was knocked back with such force that he nearly fell over. Stumbling backward, the young orc decided that he probably should heed the voice's advice and flee. Revenge be damned, Markov was far too strong to take alone. He dashed out of the church with an enraged Broken hot on his heels.

Most of the fighting in Halaa was dying down, the Kurenai had been quickly overwhelmed by the Horde and with the southern bridge gone they had no place to fall back to. The pinnacle was crawling with orcs and Lorkhan ran toward the nearest concentration of them. The mass of warriors parted for him as he dashed into their midst, though when Markov tried to follow him they barred his way his a line of drawn blades and quickly encircled the general.

The Broken growled like an animal and glanced from orc to orc. Slowly, the burning rage that clouded his vision faded and a horrified expression took its place as he realized he had been led into the heart of his enemy. The look was quickly replaced by one of stern determination and he leveled Voidwrath, slowly turning in the circle. The orcs who encircled him roared and surged toward him, though the hideous general nimbly darted amongst the mob of orcs and avoid the vast majority of their swings. No longer mindless and feral, he cut each down with cold ruthlessness better befitting a machine than a man. For each orc he slew, however, another managed to strike him and though he continued to fight despite his wounds, though the slow accumulation of gashes and broken bones began to wear him down.

Just when the Broken general finally seemed ready to fall, a deep, otherworldly roar distracted the combatants. A massive dragon composed of pure darkness swooped down toward Markov and landed in the mob of orcs, crushing many of them under its claws. Lorkhan craned his neck in order to see over the heads of his comrades. A trio of Lost Ones leapt from the Netherdrake's back and hacked their way through the few orcs who had not scattered or been crushed. While two of them continued to fight off the orcs, who were still trying to collect themselves, one scooped up their wounded leader.

The Lost One that cradled Markov was horrifically scarred, even for one of his kind, and whispered four words in the Broken's ear. "Live for the dead."

With that, it lay the Nether-cursed down in the Netherdrake's waiting claws and the drake beat its shimmering black wings, kicking up a thick cloud of bloodstained dust. A howl of frustration rippled through the mob and sporadic arrows shot upward out of the crowd at the fleeing Netherdrake, though they failed to find their mark. Unhindered, the drake flew south, carrying its precious cargo to safety. The infuriated Horde warriors descended upon the Lost Ones who had robbed them of their prize and within moments had butchered the trio.

Lorkhan fumed as he watch Markov escape his comeuppance yet again and stood for a few moments as the part of his mind that hungered for vengeance raged against the now dismembered Lost Ones. It was not until both the logical and emotional parts of his brain gave him a firm slap across the face did he realize that he had neglected something he held dear. The revenge obsessed part of him tried to dismiss the notion of anything but vengeance being important, but the rest of him promptly had it evicted from his head.

The fury that he felt at being denied his due vanished and the color drained from his face.

"Rhana!"

He turned and ran back toward the church as fast as his legs could carry him. As he neared where he last saw Rhana, Lorkhan spotted two figures in the distance. One was small and quick while the other was large and powerful and, as he approached, it quickly became apparent that the larger of the two had won.

Lantrestor's fingers were coiled around the struggling elf's throat and he held her a foot off the ground with a single, massive arm. Lorkhan howled with rage and lunged at the larger orc, his zweihander raised high. The immense blademaster casually tossed the farstrider aside and whirled to face his new adversary. He brought up his massive sword, though he was a split second to late. The warrior crashed into Lantrestor and planted his sword in the orc's chest, where it joined three arrows and a dagger that already jutted from his gut and shoulders. The larger orc toppled over backward from the sheer force of another orc colliding with him, dragging the younger warrior down with him.

The two lay still for a few moments and, just when Lorkhan thought he could relax, an enormous, iron booted foot shot up and struck him in the stomach. He tumbled backward, reeling from the blow. It felt like a hand had reached out, crushed his stomach, and ground it into a sickening pulp. He was too busy doubling over in pain to notice Lantrestor stand and wrench the zweihander from where Lorkhan had driven it into his chest. When he finally looked up, he saw the massive orc raise the sword high in the air and swing it down toward him.

A normal orc would not have been able to do anything but die. While having an absurd, by human standards at least, amount of muscle mass was usually a significant advantage, it also ruled out the possibility of ever being particularly nimble. Fortunately, Lorkhan was not a normal orc and though being a runt by orcish standards amongst the insufferably proud Mag'har had plagued him in the past, it saved his life in that moment. He darted out of the path of the blade and surged forward. The smaller orc grabbed the hilt of the zweihander and slammed the handle into the blademaster neck, sending him stumbling back and clutching his throat as he gasped for air. Lorkhan pressed his advantage, ripping out the dagger the stuck from Lantrestor's stomach and ramming it through the latter's hand and into his neck.

He didn't even bother watching the immense orc collapse. His eyes darted about frantically until they found where Rhana lay. His heart writhed and twisted as he realized she hadn't moved and he rushed to kneel at her side.

He was slightly relieved when she looked back up at him and smiled weakly, but that was soon quashed when he noticed the scope of her wounds. A large, angry gash ran across her stomach and though the leather armor she wore had taken most of the bite out of the strike, it had still carved away a sizable section of her stomach. Blood flowed freely down from her mouth and nose as well as from a number of cuts and scrapes on her face.

The elf cringed in pain as he propped her up, though once he had her cradled in his arms a look of contentment spread across her bloodstained face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you to fight him on your own. I should have–" His voice trailed off as Rhana raised one of her slender fingers and pressed it to his lips to silence him.

"It's alright, I know how much avenging Khazar means to you. You had more important things to do than baby sit little old me." She let out a soft chuckle. "Never thought I would ever play the damsel in distress." She winced, immediately regretting the laugh, and her finger slowly slid down and dropped off Lorkhan's chin.

He quickly grabbed the hand and held it tightly in his own. His heart and soul rebelled violently against the words she uttered and he desperately tried to soothe her, speaking the first words that came to mind. "No, that's not true. Next to you, revenge is secondary. Everything is. Nothing is more important to me than­–"

The young orc froze as he realized what he was saying, what his words implied. Rhana clearly picked up on the accidental meaning and quickly looked away, anywhere but at his face, and the two suddenly became acutely aware of how closely they clung to each other. Lorkhan slowly began mouthing words of apology, to try and explain what he had really meant, but a heavy stomp from behind him distracted him.

He turned and spotted, staggering out of the church, a badly bleeding tauren. Obereth didn't seem aware of their presence or very much of anything for that matter and he had to lean heavily against the stone doorframe simply to remain standing. He clutched his head as he stumbled and his hands shone with brilliant green light. As the emerald energy flowed across his head the enormous shaman slowly began to right himself.

He shook the mane that crowned his head, sending droplets of blood flying off of his soaked mane, and turned to look directly at Lorkhan and Rhana. If there were an expression that could convey shock, joy, horror, trepidation and smug satisfaction all at the same time, Obereth would have worn it on his face. Since there was none, he settled for rushing to the two with the same green energy coursed through his hands.

In the world of Azeroth many potential dramatic moments have been ruined by the presence of readily available healing and this time was no different. As soon as her broken bones mended themselves and her torn flesh stitched itself back together, Rhana shot up from where she lay as if Lorkhan were scalding to the touch. The orc's arms unconsciously reached out to her, but he quickly realized what he was doing and withdrew them. The elf blushed furiously, the bright red flush spreading all the way to the tips of her pointed ears, though she quickly banished the look of embarrassment and replaced it with the same stern, emotionless expression that he had seen on the final day of the siege of Garadar. She turned away and strode off into the distance leaving him to let out a dejected sigh. Already the warmth he had felt when holding Rhana was fading and soon all he could do was secretly savor the memory.

With both Lantrestor and Rhoon'mok gone, the Boulderfist Ogres, who up until that point had been the last bastion of resistance in Halaa, descended into petty infighting. With their heavy hitters busy killing each other over a title, which by that point was essentially meaningless, the remaining defenders finally capitulated.


	9. Checkmate

Chapter Nine: Checkmate

"_To the last, I grapple with thee; From Hell's heart, I stab at thee; For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." – Captain Ahab_

**Telaar, Nagrand – 24 hours after the fall of Halaa**

Markov the Nether-cursed stood in the middle of the war room he had set up in Telaar. The large, circular table in the center of the room was covered in maps and reports. At the table sat three Kurenai, all of whom glared accusingly at him. The Broken general, however, cared nothing of their opinion. He had not earned the title 'the Nether-cursed' by bowing to the whims of others. The name was more of dual insult than anything else, both referring to the fact that all those who he had ever fought believed him both damned to rot in the Twisting Nether as well as lacking in certain other areas. He had never objected to it though, let the fools think what they wish. At the end of the day it would not change the fact that he was the victor and they were dead.

The center Kurenai broke the silence. "You have failed us Markov. The Mag'har are marching here from Halaa and will lay siege to Telaar itself before the day is out. Your actions have doomed the Kurenai to extinction."

Markov retained is usual, controlled expression and tone, though in his heart he simmered with rage. He saw the Kurenai before him as cowards and traitors, slime under his hoof, and silently cursed them for having the gall to question one such as him. "No, Arechron. Though Telaar may fall, the Kurenai will live on. The Mag'har force deployment suggests that they are unaware of the backdoor out of Telaar through the southern mountains. I have contacts in the Lower City and have made arraignments to spirit you and the rest of your people there. You will be sheltered there and live to fight another day."

The Kurenai who sat to Arechron's right tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Markov. "And what of you?"

Markov recognized the Broken as Poli'lukluk the Wiser. The Nether-cursed had to restrain himself from laughing at the absurdly presumptuous title. Instead, he played along. He smiled at Poli'lukluk and returned his glare. "Excuse me?"

"You said 'you and the rest of your people.' What do you intend to do, pray tell?"

"My Lost Ones and I will remain here and kill as many of those disgusting orcs as possible."

The third Kurenai, a shaman named Otonbu the Sage, leaned forward and joined his comrades in questioning Markov. "You realize that remaining behind is a death sentence."

Markov felt the urge to shout that he knew and that any self-respecting Draenei would stay behind as well and fight it out to the bitter end. He wanted to denounce the three who sat before him as cowards for being unwilling to avenge the dead. Instead he held his tongue, smiled, and spoke in his trademark, honeyed tone. "Yes."

Otonbu's smiled back at him, though it was sickeningly disingenuous. "And yet you and your Lost Ones are willing to do so regardless."

He was now convinced that Otonbu was trying to goad him into lashing out. He had to summon all his willpower to keep himself from drawing Voidwrath and sending Otonbu's head rolling across the floor. "Yes."

The offending Kurenai feigned an expression of concern and his tone was one of false disbelief. "So you and those who follow you would simply throw away their lives for the sake of a petty grudge?"

Markov final snapped. The Broken leapt up onto the table, strode over the maps and reports, grabbed Otonbu by the throat and lifted him up out of his chair with one hand. Arechron and Poli'lukluk almost stood to help their compatriot, but each quickly decided it would be better for their health to remain seated. Markov shook the struggling Kurenai, who clawed franticly at the Nether-cursed's hand and arm.

The Broken general bellowed in a deep, frighteningly unnatural voice and the room visibly darkened as Voidwrath flared to life in its sheath. "You dare demean the hate we carry? You dare call it a mere grudge?!" Markov dragged the terrified Otonbu close to his face and hissed his words through clenched teeth. "Were you anything but a Draenei I would kill you where you stand. You may care nothing for vengeance, but it is all we have left." The enraged Broken casually tossed the Kurenai off to the side where he slammed into a wall and collapsed in a heap. "The orcs send their armies against us. Let them come! They shall not find us easy prey this time!"

He leapt down off the table and strode out of the room, ignoring Arechron and Poli'lukluk as they rushed to help Otonbu. Markov quietly swore at the sun as he stepped out into the daylight. The rays of light that shone down on him illuminated every scar, deformity, and disgusting feature that made up the Broken's body. He hissed at the cursed ball of fire that taunted him by constantly reminding him that he was a monstrosity, a twisted mockery of what he had once been. As he walked through the streets of Telaar he paid little attention to the Kurenai who scurried around him, collecting what little they had for the journey to Shattrath.

"Cowards. Look how eager they are to flee from a battle they should relish."

Markov glanced at the owner of the voice. The Lost One who now walked with him had seemingly materialized out of thin air. The Broken general, where others would have been startled or angered by the sudden appearance of such a hideous creature, merely smiled.

The Lost One met his gaze and motioned to the inhabitants of Telaar. "I still don't see why we need them."

"We don't. Not any more anyway. They have served their purpose." The two walked in silence for several minutes before Markov spoke again. "Have you put together the team I requested?"

"Yes sir."

"And they all have those they wish to join?"

"Yes sir."

Another pause followed the reply, though it was not as long as the previous one. When the Broken continued, it was in an almost friendly, conversational tone. "How old was your son?"

"Twelve years, seven months, four days sir." The Lost One spoke the words without any hesitation, as if it were an automatic response.

Markov nodded and spoke with quiet respect and sympathy. "Give him my regards."

"I will." The Lost One paused for a moment before tentatively continuing. "Shall I speak with Anya on your behalf?"

The Nether-cursed stopped mid stride. His smile quivered and he stared absently at the sky above. "Tell her..." A solitary tear slid down his repulsively wrinkled and malformed face. In any other culture, crying would have been seen as a sign of weakness. Among the Lost Ones, however, it was a sign of immense strength and control. It meant that the one who wept had not, as most Lost Ones had, long since shed all the tears they had. "Tell her I will be with her soon. That I wish with all that remains of my soul that I could see her again, but there is one last thing that I must do."

"Yes sir." The Lost One bowed deeply. "Live for the dead."

Markov's smile steadied upon hearing the phrase. He returned the bow. "Live for the dead."

**Mag'har Siege Lines, Nagrand**

"Sir, look."

Jorin Deadeye's lone eye gazed at where the road to Telaar dropped off into the abyss of the Telaari Basin. The smoldering remains of a wooden framework jutted out over the expanse for a few feet before abruptly ending. "They must have burned the bridges into Telaar. No matter, they'll die regardless."

"Sir, shall I have the Demolishers commence their attack?"

He waved the subordinate off. "No, tell them to hold for now."

"Why not open fire?" Another inquisitive and, to no small extent, suspicious voice behind him spoke up. He noted that the voice had not addressed him as 'sir' and immediately knew who was questioning him.

Deadeye turned to look at Lorkhan, who stared back with barely concealed contempt. Jorin, however, did not care what expression he wore so long as the young and recently hostile orc did not actively undermine his authority. "We have far more Demolishers than they have catapults, especially after their loses at Halaa. If we wait until their counter-batteries fire we can zero in on them and wipe them out immediately." He turned to look back across the basin at Telaar. "We have the numbers to simply take whatever they can dish out with a single volley."

Lorkhan simmered with rage at how casually Jorin was about the deaths of the warriors under his command. He didn't have long to seethe, however, as a sudden flash of light in the corner of his vision distracted him. The flash was followed, a moment later, by a thunderous roar and a ripple of air that swept up a cloud of dust. Lorkhan turned and saw, rising from farther down the siege line, a plume of thick black smoke.

"What was that?"

Jorin scowled. "Lorkhan, take a platoon and check that out." He then spoke to no one in particular. "It seems they want to make a fight of this."

Lorkhan strode down the siege line to where Rhana and Obereth sat, practically twiddling their thumbs. He nodded to them and motioned for them to follow him. Rhana immediately stood and walked with him. Obereth turned to look over his shoulder and whistled to those who milled about behind him. Three-dozen cold, intense pairs of eyes met his gaze. The tauren waved one of his hand, signaling for them to follow and then hurried after Lorkhan and Rhana. The platoon quickly fell in behind the trio as they hurried down the line toward the pillar of ash and soot.

They were survivors. Most of them were Mag'har who had seen the worst of the Siege of Garadar. They had been part of other, larger units that had since been annihilated. As the siege had worn on and what little semblance of organization that was left had faded, they had been lumped into a single unit. The core of the platoon, however, was made up of the dozen who had survived the battle at Aeris Landing, the subsequent flight from their camp on the Spirit Fields, and the fall of Halaa. They were the strongest, fastest, toughest, and most ruthless warriors under the banner of the Horde. Jorin Deadeye had given Lorkhan command of the platoon allegedly as a reward for his exemplary service, though the young orc suspected that it was nothing more than an attempt to appease him and buy his cooperation.

For all their experience, however, the sight that greeted their eyes when they arrived at the base of the column of smoke took them by surprise. The black cloud rose from the ruins of a number of Demolishers. Their crews lay on the ground in various stages of dismemberment. Lorkhan slowly edged toward the rubble when he saw something dart out of the smoke at him. He whipped up his zweihander and speared the thrashing ball of flesh, limbs, and knives on its tip. The hideous creature that writhed, impaled on the blade, dragged itself inch by inch toward the orc, slashing wildly at the air with a pair of viciously daggers. It snarled and gnashed its long, jagged teeth as it tried to work its way down the blade toward him. After nearly a full minute of struggling, the impaled creature finally lay still and he pushed the corpse off his zweihander with one of his boots.

One of the orcs among them spat as the body slid off the sword and collapsed. "Lost Ones! Disgusting vermin, we should have wiped them out years ago."

Lorkhan, however, was not paying attention to the orc. He was to busy trying to figure out what was going on. If a Lost One had managed to sneak into the siege lines it would explain what had caused the explosion. But a lone Lost One, especially one as deranged as the one that he had skewered, could not have slaughtered the crew of the Demolishers.

He motion toward the few Demolishers that remained intact. "There are more of them out there. Find them! Find them and kill them!"

The platoon rushed forward, scouring the line of siege engines for their quarry. There were indeed more, many more. As each Lost One that scurried through the lines was found, cold and merciless blades cut it down. Lorkhan growled in frustration. The siege line was practically infested with the vermin. The platoon worked slowly, methodically cutting the infection from the line. Finally, the Horde warriors closed in on the last of the deformed creatures as it dashed through the line of Demolishers and, if its pursuers had bothered to notice anything but their quarry, they might have realized that it left on each of the war machines that it passed a small, metal contraption. As it reached the final Demolisher, it turned and was met with a terrifying sight, though the creature was incapable of feeling the fear that any sane being would have been paralyzed by.

The Lost One's eyes darted about, every way it looked it saw angry faces and thirsty blades glaring back at it. Lorkhan, Rhana, Obereth, and the rest of the platoon began advancing toward it. In a smooth motion that betrayed no signs of doubt or hesitation it drew from the pack on its back a strange contraption. The cluster of whirling gears and bundled wires bore the cobbled together appearance that was the trademark of goblin technology. The Lost One grinned and pressed a large, red button on the side of the device.

A massive fireball engulfed the smiling creature and the Demolisher that it stood next to. A chain of explosions ripped through the siege line and the ground itself trembled as gouts of flame shot skyward. A wall of air knocked Lorkhan off his feet and a deafening roar assaulted his ears.

It took the orc a few moments to haul himself back to his feet. His brain was flooded by an earsplitting ring that drowned out all other sounds. When he finally managed to steady himself he looked, dumbstruck, at the ruins around him. The explosions had torn most of the Demolishers to shreds, and those that remained in one piece were on fire.

Rhana appeared just as shocked as Lorkhan. "What in the Nether was that?"

Obereth raised his massive head and sniffed the air. "Elemental Seaforium, and a lot of it. That last Lost One was carrying the detonator, the others stalled us long enough to set the charges off."

"Why would they throw their lives away like that?"

"Why wouldn't they? What do they have left to live for?"

Lorkhan cut into the conversation quite forcefully. "Enough. It doesn't matter. We need to inform Deadeye." He turned and walked back down the line. Rhana and Obereth exchanged confused and concerned glances before hurrying after him.

Jorin Deadeye eyed Lorkhan with curiosity as the latter approached. "Report."

"Lost Ones managed to sneak in and spike most of the Demolishers."

"Damn." He turned away and gazed back at Telaar. Already slabs of stone were being hurled out of the fortress and began raining down on the siege line. "They knew that we could have obliterated their catapults, so they waited until the Lost Ones had destroyed the Demolishers." The one-eyed orc smiled, a move that confused Lorkhan to no end. "Looks like Markov still has a few tricks up his sleeve." He shrugged. "Oh well."

The younger orc scowled at how unconcerned Deadeye sounded. "What are you going to do?" He asked the question in an almost accusing tone.

"Go to Plan B." Jorin waved over another orc, who immediately hurried to his side. "Sergeant, inform Du'ga that he and his riders are clear to move in."

"Yes sir." The sergeant quickly bowed and dashed deeper into the siege line.

A minute later a bright blue flare shot into the air and a chorus of loud screeches grated against Lorkhan's eardrums in response. Dozens of Wyverns sailed over his head and sped toward Telaar. A hail of arrows rose to meet them, though most of the agile Wyverns remained unscathed. The Wind Riders that the Wyverns carried on their backs pitched spears and flaming concoctions down at the defenders, the Kurenai catapults being the first to be set ablaze.

Lorkhan glared at Deadeye and when he spoke he didn't even bother concealing his contempt. "Is there anything else that you're not telling me about?"

Jorin's smile widened into a grin, though he did not bother to look back at him. "The total tonnage of what I know and you don't could stun a team of oxen in its tracks."

"You could have at least told me about that." He motioned to the flock of Wyverns that were playing havoc with the fortifications of Telaar.

"Need-to-know basis, and you didn't."

Lorkhan clenched his teeth. Seeing Deadeye's true, arrogant side aggravated him to no end. At least Garrosh had been obviously incompetent and thus easy to defy. Jorin Deadeye, however, was disturbingly clever. Clever and extremely cold, he was, more often than not, perfectly wiling to sacrifice those under his command to ensure victory. And now without Garrosh or the Greatmother to restrain him Deadeye was the undisputed leader of the Mag'har.

A loud screech from one of the Wyverns jarred Lorkhan from his thoughts. The Wyvern in question was gliding in low over the siege line, heading toward a lone orc warrior. When it passed over the warrior, it reached out with its clawed feet and grabbed the warrior by the shoulders, lifting him up off the ground. The Wyvern then slowly turned and flew toward Telaar. The orc gaped as he saw other Wyverns do the same with many more warriors.

He managed to contain his shock long enough to speak. "That's insane."

Jorin grinned. "Get a good look, because you're going too."

Lorkhan turned and stared at him. "You're joking." He spoke the words as if they were a demand, not a statement.

"I need my best warriors up front to secure a beachhead for the others and I'm sorry but you fit the bill." From the way Jorin spoke it was obvious to Lorkhan that he was not, in fact, sorry. What he couldn't deduce, however, was if this was indeed a vote of confidence or merely a way to dispose of him.

His response was equally applicable to both of the scenarios. "Oh goodie."

"This way." He motioned for Lorkhan to follow him. The two walked out into a gap in the siege line. The latter could see a Wyvern high in the air behind him slowly bank and line up with his shoulders. The older orc placed a comforting hand on the warrior's shoulder. "The rider is in complete control. There is nothing you can do to help or hurt the process so you might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride."

He stepped back out of the way of the oncoming Wyvern. Lorkhan was about to say something to the affect of 'easy for you to say' when a pair of talons latched onto his shoulders and whisked him off his feet. The result was a casual sound that morphed into a startled yelp and then a shocked holler.

It was the first time he had ever flown, and Lorkhan was both thrilled and terrified. The ground dropped out from under his feet and the wind whipped about his face as the world raced by beneath him. He wisely decided it would be best if he did not look down. The orc tried to relax, as Deadeye had advised, though he found that exceedingly difficult considering that only a pair of clawed feet, which looked like they were designed more with killing than carrying in mind, were the only thing between him and a long fall and gruesome death. He nervously glanced about, trying to find something, anything, to look at other than the ground far below him.

What his eyes found amused him to no end, he even managed to laugh at the sight despite the fact that a pair of vicious claws were clamped down on his upper torso. Another Wyvern flew only a little more than a hundred feet to his left and Lorkhan could see, in its talons, Rhana. She had drawn her bow and was firing arrow after arrow in the direction of Telaar, which the Wyverns were quickly approaching. His amusement was quickly replaced with awe as he realized she was actually hitting the Lost Ones on the battlements ahead.

He stared in wide-eyed wonder at her, until he remembered what had happened at Halaa. He shook his head in an attempt to banish the foolish, naive notions from his head. She had leapt from his arms, not into them. His slip of the tongue had made working together increasingly awkward. The strange feelings that had eaten at him when near Rhana had grown into an incessant distraction, an itch that he couldn't scratch. He constantly turned the events of the last month over in his mind.

The conversation between Eldrath and Rhana that he had overheard on the Spirit Fields had been strange to say the least. Then again, everything about the Blood Knight had been strange, and Lorkhan had merely chalked it up as just that, a bizarre conclusion from an equally bizarre elf. Rhana herself had also lashed out at her brother for bringing the topic up so casually. He had angered her by even suggesting that she had feelings for the orc. It certainly matched up with her behavior at Halaa. She had been so disturbed by their close contact that she had practically run away. And hadn't she snapped at him quite viciously when he asked about Talec, who Eldrath had mentioned to her without eliciting such a harsh response?

There was something clawing at the back of his mind, however, that begged him to believe that she did, in fact, care for him. It ranted about the night that Eldrath died. Lorkhan couldn't remember much about that night. He remembered walking into a bar, getting roaring drunk, and then waking up the next day with the mother of all hangovers. The only thing he remembered about that night that included Rhana was him getting his head bashed against the bar. No, it was readily apparent to him that she did not share his sentiments.

The orc laughed at himself for thinking such thoughts now, of all times. He was racing through the air, held aloft by the claws of a Wyvern, toward an enemy fortress that was guarded by some of the most bloodthirsty and deranged creatures he had ever seen. It was hardly the appropriate time to be reflecting on his personal feelings. Once again he quashed them and focused his mind on the task ahead. The image of Markov's jeering face ran through his mind. The orc gritted his teeth and tightened his already white-knuckle grip on his zweihander. Today they would wipe that smug smile from his disgusting face once and for all.

**Telaar, Nagrand – That afternoon**

"Are you sure?" Rhana stepped past Obereth and stood beside Lorkhan, whose eyes were closed in concentration.

"He's here. I can smell him." The orc lifted his head and sniffed the air again. "And he's close." It was only half true. While he could not actually smell Markov himself, he could smell the cold, acidic smoke that Voidwrath constantly belched. That was good enough for him. If the Black Blade of Sin was here, Markov had to be as well.

The three trudged through the ruins of a Kurenai home and out into a rumble strewn clearing. The forces of the Mag'har had fanned out through Telaar and were mopping up the remaining defenders. Without their siege engines or the protection that the geography provided, the Lost Ones were quickly crushed by sheer weight of numbers. Lorkhan however, didn't care what the other Mag'har were up to, his eyes had found something far more interesting. Atop one of the ruined buildings that overlooked the clearing was a solitary figure. It sat, surveying the battle below and it was far too large and muscular to be one of the pathetic Lost Ones that they had fought up until then.

"Rhana." He pointed toward it.

"I see him." She raised her bow and loosed an arrow at the figure. It sailed through the air toward the Broken but, before it could strike him, he plucked the arrow out of the air and snapped it like a twig.

The orc scowled. He had only ever fought one person who possessed that kind of speed. He calmly walked out across the clearing until he stood at the foot of the ruined building. He raised his zweihander and glared at the Broken. "It ends here Markov. Today we're going to put you out of your misery."

Markov the Nether-cursed leapt down from his perch and brandished Voidwrath at him. "You speak more truth than you know."

An arrow flew over Lorkhan's shoulder and sped toward Markov's face. The Broken leisurely batted it aside with his sword. When he struck the arrow down, however, he moved his own sword out of position for a split second and it was in that moment that Lorkhan lunged forward. Even though he was not in any position to strike at the younger warrior, Markov was still a nimble and dangerous opponent. The Broken darted to the side and let the orc sail past him. As he did, he grabbed the back of Lorkhan's tunic, shoved him past, and hooked the latter's feet out from under him with an outstretched hoof. The orc stumbled past Markov, his momentum carrying him in an arc down into the ground. He slammed into the dirt and skidded to a halt.

Obereth was right behind Lorkhan and swung his flanged mace down at the Nether-cursed, who by this time was ready for him. Markov brought up his sword and held it horizontally above his head, pressing one of his horrifically mutated hands against the dull back of the single-edged sword. By all rights the colossal head of the mace should have snapped the black blade like a twig or, barring that, the Broken's arms should have given way under the force of the blow.

Neither happened. Instead, the mace was simply brought to a sudden halt by the thin blade of Voidwrath and the rock beneath the Markov's hooves cracked under the pressure. Obereth stood dumbstruck for a moment, long enough for the Broken general to push back on the blade and forced the tauren's massive arms into the air above his head. Then, bringing the black blade down in a diagonal slice, he ripped a long gash open in Obereth's chest. The latter grunted in pain and staggered backward, clutching at the wound.

With a smile, the massive tauren suddenly darted to the side and a volley of arrows sailed through the air where he had stood a moment before. Markov batted the arrows aside and Obereth took the opportunity to tend to his wound. Green energy flowed from the shaman's palms into gapping rend in his flesh, which quickly stitched itself back together. Lorkhan picked himself up off the ground and rushed at the Broken, who was once again busy deflecting Rhana's arrows. He spotted the orc as he charged and tried to sidestep him yet again. Lorkhan, however, had learned his lesson and knew that Markov would try to evade him. At the last second he tilted his lunge to where the Broken was moving.

Lorkhan and the Nether-cursed collided, the former tackling the latter to the ground. Voidwrath fell from his hands and clattered to the blood stained dirt. Lorkhan was first to his feet and stabbed down at Markov. The Broken rolled out of the way of the zweihander, which embedded itself in the ground. A deformed hands shot up and latched onto Lorkhan's right arm. He used the orc to haul himself up and, with speed befitting a snake, slithered around Lorkhan's entangled arm. He pressed one of his elbows down on the forearm, which still griped the zweihander, and brought a knee up, crushing the bones in the vice.

Before the young warrior could even howl in pain, Markov darted behind him and dragged the splintered arm along with him. The Broken gripped the orc's shoulder with one of his malformed hands and violently wrenched his arm to the side with the other. A nauseating pop filled the air and mind-boggling pain shot up Lorkhan's arm into his brain. The nerves in his forearm and shoulder were alight with agony that clouded his thoughts and he felt as if the entire right half of his body was being burnt to a crisp and ground into dust at the same time. Markov released Lorkhan and pushed him down. As the orc toppled forward, the Broken scooped up Voidwrath and raised it to finish him off.

An immense, hunched blur shot over Lorkhan and slammed, headlong, into Markov. Obereth's horns punched clean through the Broken's chest and lifted him off his feet. The two barreled across the clearing and slammed into a stone wall with a loud, resounding crack as Markov's bones snapped under the force of the impact. The pinned general still clung to Voidwrath, which had remained hefted above his head. He flipped the blade in his grasp and stabbed downward, planting it in the shaman's shoulder. The Nether-cursed levered the handle of the sword and used it to push Obereth, who was still trying to crush him against the wall, back. Slowly, Markov hauled the tauren's horns out of his chest. Once he was free of them, he stepped to the side yanked hard on Voidwrath's handle, pulling Obereth along with it. The tauren slammed headfirst into the wall and collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

Markov stumbled forward. Obereth was named 'Steelhorns' for good reason, and they had left a pair of vicious gashes in the Broken's gut. The sheer force behind the charge had broken most of his ribs and blood slowly filled his punctured lungs. But he didn't care. He meandered drunkenly over to where Lorkhan lay, still clutching his arm. Slowly, Markov raised Voidwrath above his head and a twisted, insane smile played across his bloodied face. The young orc stared up at the Broken and what he was sure would be the last thing he saw. He tried to back away, his feet pedaling madly at the ground, but Markov simply stepped forward, and eventually he felt his back press against one of the larger pieces of rubble that now dotted Telaar. He glanced about, and quickly found that only a few yards to his right was a mind-bogglingly long drop into the Telaari Basin below.

Seeing Lorkhan try desperately to back away made Markov chuckle. "You were right about one thing, boy. This ends here." He tightened his grip on Voidwrath and the Black Blade of Sin flared a deep black, devouring the sunlight around it in eager anticipation.

Lorkhan may have been a brave orc, but the sight was more than he could bear. Markov, a twisted and hideous creature by any standards, stood before him wearing a maniacal grin on his face and hefting a sword that eclipsed the sun with an aura of pure darkness. In that moment he appeared to be the manifestation of death itself. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the end to come.

It didn't. Instead, silence greeted him, broken only by a soft thunk, and after it passed he was not entirely sure if he had heard it or simply imagined it. He cautiously opened his eyes. Markov still stood before him and seemed to be frozen in place, Voidwrath still raised above his head. It took a moment for Lorkhan to notice the arrow that protruded from the Broken's right eye. It had punched clean through the black patch that he wore over the empty socket and blood trickled down from behind it.

Slowly, one of Markov's hands dropped from where it gripped Voidwrath and tentatively felt the slender shaft that stuck out from his head. A pair of thick, warped fingers curled around the arrow shaft and snapped it off near where it disappeared into the eye socket. Markov turned to face Rhana, smiled, and began calmly walking toward her.

She loosed a second arrow at him, snarling with rage as she did. "Die, damn you! Why won't you die?!"

Markov did not even try to deflect the arrow, which found its mark in the center of his chest. Two others soon joined it, embedding themselves in his right shoulder and gut. Still he continued to trudge toward Rhana, slowly closing the distance between the two. When the Broken neared her, the elf quickly tossed her bow aside and drew an elegantly curved shortsword. She lashed out, stabbing at Markov's neck with the sword. His left hand shot up into the way. The sword punched through the deformed hand, but the hilt snagged in it just inches before the tip could slice open his neck.

With a quick jerk of his impaled hand, he rammed the handle of the sword into Rhana's neck. She released her grip on the sword and stumbled back, clutching her throat. With serpentine grace, Markov slipped around behind her and delivered a sharp kick to her calves. Rhana sank to her knees, still letting out a soft choking sound as she struggled to breathe. The Broken general calmly ripped the shortsword from his hand and tossed it aside.

He raised his own sword high and smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry about the throat. Here, let me help you with that."

Before he could bring the sword down upon her neck, Markov saw a blur of brown out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it just in time for a wooden two-by-four to strike him in squarely in the chest. The Broken stumbled back and Voidwrath slipped from his grasp. He clutched his chest, which by that point was barely more than a soup of blood, bone, and organs. Lorkhan roared and, with all the strength he could muster, swung the wooden beam again.

The two-by-four struck the Broken in the side and his ears were greeted by a sickening snap as what was left of Markov's bones splintered and shattered. The Nether-cursed took a final, faltering step to the side and, instead of solid ground, his hoof met nothing but empty air. Time seemed to grid to a sluggish crawl as the Broken general toppled from the pinnacle down into the abyss of the basin below.

Silence blanketed Telaar, threatening to crush all those present under its oppressive weight. The two-by-four fell from Lorkhan's hands and clattered to the ground. Already the pain in his broken arm had become an ache so severe that it threatened to blot out all his other senses. However, one sound sliced through the overpowering pain. At first, he attributed the humming in his ears to the pain, but as he stumbled forward, he realized them hum got louder as he moved. He slowly, almost unconsciously, followed the hum until it filled his ears and drowned out even the pain. Lorkhan began to sigh as the ache dulled, but the breath caught in his throat as he saw what lay at his feet.

The Black Blade of Sin stared back up at him. Wisps of grey smoke rolled off the sword that sat, unattended, amidst the rubble. As he gazed down at Voidwrath, the hum in his ears intensified and spread through his bones, causing him to shiver involuntarily. Just looking at it made Lorkhan feel uncomfortable. He tried to turn his eyes away from the pitch-black blade.

He failed.

Lorkhan saw his hands reach down toward it. He tried to pull them back, away from the sword. Again, he failed. The fingers on his right hand curled around the simple, worn handle while his left gently slid under the blade itself. He lifted Voidwrath from the dirt, marveling at how light the sword was. Staring into the blade itself was like looking up into a night sky devoid of stars. The sword itself was not a true object, but the lack of one. It was a tear in the very fabric of reality that eagerly devoured any rays of light, hope, or sanity that foolishly strayed to close. As he gazed down at the blade, the darkness seemed to creep out of the sword, slowly expanding to fill his vision. Eventually the black tendrils engulfed his sight and all sound, scent, and sensation abandoned Lorkhan, leaving him alone in the void.


	10. Smashing the Board

Chapter Ten: Smashing the Board

"_What a pity that the Phantom can't be here." – Richard Firmin_

**Somewhere.**

Lorkhan looked around. Though he could clearly see his own body, a veil of darkness shrouded the rest of the world and even the ground that he was standing on was hidden from his sight. "Where am I?" The sound of his voice seemed to echo throughout the inky blackness despite the lack of anything for it to echo off of.

_You are everywhere and nowhere._

He spun about, startled. The warrior could have sworn he had heard a voice speak to him. It was calm and spoke with a soft, honeyed tone that sounded hauntingly familiar, though it was very different from the one that had advised him at Halaa. While that one had been almost fatherly, this one was smooth and reminded him of a serpent. The voice, however, did not echo through the darkness as Lorkhan's did. He wasn't even sure if his ears had heard it.

"Who– What are you?"

The voice let out a soft chuckle before whispering its response.

_I? I am a monument to all you sins._

The orc's eyes widened as he recalled the words that Markov had spoken before he slew Eldrath at Halaa. "The Black Blade of Sin... Voidwrath? You're Markov's sword?"

_Precisely._

"Don't listen to anything it says. It will lead you to ruin." It was the voice from Halaa, warm and fatherly as it had been before, though also desperate.

The voice of Voidwrath quickly silenced it.

_Oh shut up, old man. Don't make me kill you again. Hmmm... Then again, the prospect is so very tempting. Maybe you would have the good grace to stay dead this time around._

Lorkhan's face darkened. Anything that had aided Markov was surely an enemy and the fatherly voice had advised him well in the past. He had barely been able to defeat the sinister Broken with both Rhana and Obereth at his side. The young warrior now knew he had been a fool to try and face him alone and the counsel the fatherly voice had offered allowed him not only to walk away alive, but nearly leave the pinnacle with Markov's head. If the sword wished the voice silent then it could only do him harm.

"Why have you brought me here? Where are Rhana and Obereth?"

_So many questions. Fear not, your friends are safe and–_

The voice of Voidwrath trailed off, as if considering something. When it spoke again Lorkhan could just imagine the voice's owner wearing a delighted grin, if it were possible for a sword to grin that is.

_Interesting... You wish that she could, perhaps, be more than a mere friend._

The warrior gaped. His mind whirled in panic and chaos as he tried to fathom what the voice of Voidwrath had just ever so casually commented on. It had somehow tapped into his innermost feelings, ones that had been stirred up at Halaa when he cradled Rhana in his arms and, when she had jumped up and practically ran to get away from him, hastily buried. If she despised simply being close to him he thought it best to discard such frail and easily wounded feelings before they ruin what remained of their friendship. Yet now, at Voidwrath's words, they flared to life again stronger now than ever before.

"What?! How did you–"

_Don't you get it? I'm here, inside your mind. I can hear everything you think, recall any of your memories, experience all of your myriad emotions, and a certain one of them is complaining that it has been neglected. You know, you're not all that different from Him, or rather from what He used to be._

"Markov? Are you insane? I'm nothing like that monstrosity!"

_You would think that with all your incessant questions about where you are or what I am you would have asked a much more important question: Why? Why was He a monster? After all, you and He began in much the same way. He had a father, He had a mother – as so many of you mortals do – and not at all unlike you there was one who He cared for above all else._

His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me this?"

Again the voice chuckled, though this time the sound was far more disturbing.

_Telling? I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to show you._

The world rushed up from below Lorkhan, beginning as a tiny brown spec and quickly expanding until the red and green landscape filled his vision, and he looked about, startled by the sudden change in scenery. The land that stretched out before him bore striking similarities to Nagrand, though it lacked the tiny, floating islands that drifted through the skies of Outland. Long blades of green grass swayed in the gentle breeze and he could see, towering on the horizon, majestic red mountains that rose gracefully from the plains. Mighty rivers and tranquil brooks wound their way amongst the rolling hills and clumps of trees dotted the serene vista.

He stared in wonder at the gorgeous scene around him. "Where are we?"

_Not where, when. And don't worry, you'll see soon enough._

The ground lurched forward and sped by under his feet, quickly melding into a blur of green. Off in the distance, he could see a massive structure, a forest of golden spires, arches, and towers that loomed amongst the hills. He marveled at it, until he realized that he was still speeding toward its walls without showing any signs of slowing. His eyes widened in horror as he hurtled toward the daunting edifice before he clenched them tightly, bringing up his hands to shield his face.

The moments passed, one after the other, and the end did not come. Lorkhan could hear the voice of Voidwrath chuckling in his head, and slowly lowered his arms. He hesitantly opened his eyes and saw that he was sailing through the air, darting amongst the golden homes, temples, and gardens that made up the fortress.

As buildings whipped past him and the streets snaked along under him, he could make out tiny blue figures dotting the ground below him and he realized that he was slowing as the world that whirled around him gradually wound down to a more reasonable pace. The cobblestones that lay below crept up toward him and finally his feet felt solid ground. The young orc looked around, taking the new setting. He was standing on a wide street that ran through the nest of golden towers.

The street was packed with large, blue skinned, hoofed figures that each went about their own business. Fleshy tendrils hung from their checks and chins, and each seemed to radiate a warm, comforting light that they carried about with them as any other would a shadow. Lorkhan had never seen so many Draenei in one place before, especially ones that bore no deformities or signs of corruption. The particular building that he stood before had a sign that hung above its doorway and though the words on it were written in an alien tongue that he couldn't make heads or tails out of, the rhythmic clanging sounds he heard from beyond the door and the thick black smoke that belched from the building's chimney told him everything he needed to know.

_Go on, step inside. You never know what you might find..._

Lorkhan's hand slowly crept up to the doorknob and twisted it. The door was unlocked, and as he pushed it open a blast of hot air washed over him and the smell of sweat and soot immediately assaulted his senses. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The interior was sparsely decorated stone and the room was lined with racks of weapons and dotted with tables upon which lay all manner of tools. A massive forge dominated one of the far corners of the room and the air around it rippled from the intense heat. The young orc quickly found himself unable to stand even looking directly at it, as the sight of it made his eyes sting and water.

Next to the forge was an equally immense anvil, and by that stood a blue skinned figure that gazed intently at the work before him. The hammer the Draenei held rose and fell in an unwavering rhythm, mercilessly striking a red-hot blade that he held atop the anvil with a pair of heavy forceps. He was muscular, even by Draenei standards, and did not seem to have noticed the orc who had wandered into his shop. Indeed, he appeared entirely oblivious to the world around him. Never did his burning gaze wander from the smoldering metal that he pounded into shape.

Though Lorkhan was no blacksmith, he had long since learned to recognize a quality weapon when he saw it and the sword that the Draenei hammered away at was one such weapon. However, whenever the smith paused to examine his work, he would always manage to find some minuscule flaw that he felt warranted further attention. And so he continued to work, tirelessly stamping out even the tiniest imperfection as if it were a disgusting vermin, an affront to his very existence.

Lorkhan felt the hot air rush past his face and turned to find that the door had opened behind him. In the doorway stood a tall, slender Draenei woman with shoulder length raven hair and short blue horns that curved from where they began just above the forehead following her hair. She closed the door behind her and strode past the young orc, never even glancing toward him, to where the smith worked. The Draenei who remained standing over the anvil did not seem notice the woman who calmly walked up behind him and instead continued to hammer the red-hot blade.

The woman he neglected slowly lifted her hands and placed the tips of her long fingers on the man's shoulders. He stiffened and paused mid swing but as the fingertips began rubbing his shoulders and the base of his neck he relaxed. Slowly, he set the hammer and the forceps that held the blade down on the anvil and sighed contentedly. Suddenly, the larger of the pair whirled around and, placing his massive hands on the woman's sides, lifted her into the air. The yelp of surprise that the slender Draenei let out was quickly silenced as the man brought her in close and clamped his lips down over hers. As he held her, the woman's arms slowly snaked over his shoulders and pulled them even closer together.

The intruding orc shifted uncomfortably as he watched. He quickly turned away and whispered under his breath. "Why are you showing me this? What's the point?"

_Be patient, you'll see very soon._

A deep and distant noise drew Lorkhan's attention, one that reminded him of Eldrath's war horn and the charge it had sounded. He turned to see where it had come from and saw the large Draenei quickly stride over to the door. He had apparently heard the sound as well and he wore a concerned expression as he opened the door and leaned out. Lorkhan walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder, straining to see what was going on outside.

The young warrior looked out just in time to see a boulder careen through the air and smash into a building across the street. The golden structure crumbled and collapsed inward in a roar of rushing stone. Screams and cries of terror accompanied the destruction and he could see a crowd of people running down the street, fleeing in panic deeper into the city. Farther down the street, in the direction from which the mass of Draenei fled, was a wall of green surging across the cobblestone like an immense wave.

The large Draenei quickly snapped the door shut and slammed a massive metal bar down across the frame. His expression now remarkably similar to the one he had worn when working, he strode over to one of the weapon racks that lined the walls and plucked an elegant spear from the rack that he handed it to the woman at his side. Lorkhan almost laughed at the motion, but he noticed a cold gleam in the woman's eyes as they examined the spear and instead chose to remain silent. The man lifted a long sword from its place on the wall and together the two turned toward the door.

The door abruptly bulged inward and angered shouting could be heard beyond. The pair of Draenei readied their weapons as the door creaked in protest with each strike. An enormous axe blade smashed its way through the door, cleaving a large section in two. A thick, green hand reached through the opening and ripped the metal bar from its place in the doorframe. After a short pause the door was finally knocked clean of its hinges by the black boot of an enraged orc which let out a crazed roar and lunged toward the Draenei, frothing at the mouth and raising its axe. The orc managed to get only a few feet into the building before it had a spear tip rammed into its stomach. It let loose a howl of pain as the Draenei woman wrenched the spear and sent it toppling off to the side. The orc slammed into the ground and skid to a halt before she planted the spear tip in its neck, replacing its howl with a watery gurgle as it writhed on the floor while frantically clutching at its throat in a vain attempt to stem the torrent of blood.

As the woman yanked her spear from the dying orc another rushed into the room toward her, swinging wildly with a pair of spiked clubs. Its feral charge was cut short when the woman's counterpart stepped forward and, with a quick snap of his sword, cleanly parted the second orc's head from his shoulders. Orc after orc barreled through the doorway but each met the same fate as the first two and added to the growing pile of corpses. Lorkhan could do nothing but marvel at the skill and precision with which the pair of Draenei dispatched their foes. All the while the two remained calm and controlled, betraying no sign of emotion be it fear, rage, or any sort of enjoyment.

After several minutes of carnage however, the flow of mindless and feral orcs ceased. The two Draenei paused, though neither moved from their positions. The next figure to enter the room did not, however, rush headlong at them. An orc, dressed in a black robe adorned with orc and Draenei skulls and wearing a massive Ogre skull as a helm on which glowed elaborate runes, calmly walked into the room, which darkened visibly as he entered and the waves of terror and despair that radiated from him flooded the building. Both Draenei immediately rushed toward the orc, raising their weapons to strike at him, but the orc merely smirked and raised one of his hands. Tendrils of black flame shot from his outstretched palm and enveloped the pair, who sank to the floor, writhing in agony.

The orc let out a low, rumbling chuckle and motioned to the mob of warriors behind him. A dozen orcs rushed into the room and propped the Draenei up on their knees. After a few seconds the black tendrils faded and the pair began to struggle, though the burly orcs easily restrained them. The skull-clad orc strode over to the two and leaned down in front of the woman, glaring at her as if she were an insect he was studying.

With a jerk of her head, the Draenei shot a glob of spit at the orc, which sailed through an eye socket of the skull helm he wore and struck him squarely in his left eye. The orc reeled back, growling with rage, and paused for a moment while he wiped the spit from his eye before he turned back toward the woman. His hand shot forward and grabbed her by the throat, the corners of his mouth curling in a crooked grin as he squeezed.

The Draenei man, who knelt restrained to the woman's right thrashed about as the orc's fingers curled around her throat. Rage and desperation mingled on his face and Lorkhan, who had silently watched the entire event, saw something hauntingly familiar in his expression. The orc turned his head toward the man and his grin widened, then relaxed his grip on the woman's neck, never taking his eyes off the man. The woman coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath and the expression on the man's face melted from rage into fear and concern.

The orc laughed at the change. It was a harsh, cruel sound, one that dripped with malice and wickedness poisoning the very air around him. Even after the laugh faded into a chuckle and then subsided the malevolence hung thick about him. The orc's gaze never drifted from the man, even as he drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt and planted the jagged blade in the woman's heart.

Her eyes widened in shock and a tiny gasp escaped her mouth before the expression on her face froze in place and her head drifted down until her long, dark hair hid her face from sight. The orcs who held the woman pushed her forward and her lifeless body silently struck the floor.

The man let loose an enraged roar that quickly degenerated into uncontrolled weeping as he struggled in vain to free himself and rush to his companion's side. Tears streamed freely down his blue face and his miserable sobs mixed with deep, rumbling snarls with each attempt to lunge forward. The orcs who surrounded the Draenei let out a chorus of vicious, mocking laughs, except for the robed orc who simply smiled at him.

Lorkhan couldn't bear to watch. He shut his eyes and turned away, trying desperately to block out the callous, pitiless laughter. Suddenly a sharp pain filled his mind, as if a white-hot poker had been rammed into his skull, and the voice of Voidwrath filled his thoughts, furious beyond all imagination.

_NO! YOU WILL SEE! YOU WILL HEAR! YOU WILL WATCH AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND!_

He forced his gaze back on to the horrific spectacle that lay before him. The robed orc, all without tearing his gaze from the remaining Draenei, turned over the slender woman's body so that she lay face up. Her vacant eyes gazed upward at the ceiling, cold and blank, and her mouth hung agape, frozen in a wordless expression of shock.

For what seemed like an eternity the man did nothing but stare into the empty eyes of his companion before he broke completely. His sobs ceased completely and mutated into an infuriated roar and he wildly tried to shake the orcs off. Through all of his struggling, the robed orc calmly reached down and ripped out the dagger that was still lodged in the lifeless Draenei's chest. The man cringed and stopped struggling, a look of abject pain playing across his face as the dagger was torn free of the woman's still heart.

The skull-clad orc tilted his head as he examined the weeping Draenei. He chuckled softly to himself and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"I think there's something in your eye. Here, let me help."

The other orcs laughed as the robed one raised the dagger and proceeded to ever so slowly carve out the Draenei's right eye. He howled in pain as the jagged blade pierced his burning blue eye, swirled about in the socket, and scooped the bloody mass out. Lorkhan almost looked away, but remembered the pain that had greeted him when he had before. For now, the young orc forced himself to watch the man suffer and weathered the waves of nausea that washed over him as the thick red pulp that had once been a brilliant blue eye splattered against the hard stone floor.

The robed orc raised the dagger over his head and his smile twisted into the same feral grin that he had worn when he was crushing the Draenei woman's throat. Time slowed to a crawl as he did, and Lorkhan felt himself lurch forward. Looking down at himself, he realized that he had unconsciously begun moving forward, as if to try and help the Draenei.

A sudden cracking sound from above him caused him to look up. The stones that made up the ceiling were, in slow motion, giving way, and Lorkhan soon saw why. Crashing through golden stone into the room was a massive Demolisher round, similar to the one that had fallen outside and smashed the building across the street and the assembled orcs looked up just in time to see an avalanche of brick, stone, and mortar bury them alive. Lorkhan clenched his eyes shut as the building collapsed and the rumbling of stone crashing to earth filled his ears.

After a torturously long moment the roar abated, leaving only a deathly silence in its wake. Lorkhan's eyes crept open and he saw that he stood upon a mound of rubble that had once been the room and it inhabitants. From amongst the debris stuck several limbs, all orcish, and all twisted in horrific ways as their owners had been crushed beneath the collapsing building. The young warrior nearly jumped when he heard the sound of crumbling stone behind him and whirled around in time to see a pile of stone shift to the side and tumble down the side of the mound. The Draenei, bruised, battered, and still weeping both tears and blood, slowly rose from the ruins.

He staggered forward a few steps before his sole remaining eye found something that caused it to widen and burn with a fury the like of which Lorkhan had never seen. The orc's eyes followed his gaze and found what his had. Lying amidst the rubble, his chest and arms pinned under a slab of stone, was the robed orc. The skull he had worn as a helm had splintered and cracked, revealing a trembling and terrified face.

The Draenei slowly walked toward the orc, but stopped halfway. His eye had found something else of interest. Jutting up from the rubble before him was the sword that he had been hammering before this nightmare had begun, still red-hot and smoldering. The Draenei's burning eye darted from the sword, to the pinned orc, and then back to the sword. He reached out and his hand curled around the base of the unfinished blade. It still had no handle and as his flesh contacted the metal it began to hiss and steam. Wisps of smoke rolled off his boiling flesh as he wrenched the blade from its resting place and walked over to helpless orc.

As the Draenei strode toward him, Lorkhan could see the skin on the man's hand melt and run together into a twisted mass of molten flesh. Within moments the fingers had merged and swelled until he had but two on each hand. As he struggled toward the orc, the man stumble and nearly double over in pain, but he steadied himself and continued his relentless advance. When he stood, however, it was not with the proud, regal posture of the Draenei and when he finally reached his pinned and terrified foe he bore more resemblance to a feral beast than the noble and mighty man he had been only minutes ago.

He raised the molten blade and held it aloft before he slowly slid the tip into the writhing orc's right eye. The orc let loose a bone-chilling scream that mingled with the hissing sound of burning flesh. The Draenei twisted the blade, stirring the boiling mixture before finally lifting the blade free of the charred and ruined eye.

The orc lay on the ground, whimpering in pain, but he managed to breathe out a single word in between his strangled gasps.

"Mercy..."

The brilliant blue flame that burned within the Draenei's eye became an inferno. His face twisted into a hideous mask of spite and he let loose an enraged roar. The cry echoed through the ruins and, for a moment, Lorkhan's memory conjured up the red light of the dawn at Clan Watch when Khazar had died. The Draenei raised the hissing blade and brought it down on the orc's neck, slicing and burning through flesh, muscle, and bone, boiling blood and searing skin in its wake. The severed head, still wearing a look of unadulterated horror, rolled across the ground and came to a stop at Lorkhan's feet.

Slowly, the Draenei turned to face into the sunlight. The blade he held that had simmered and hissed in his hands when he had drawn it from the rubble now lay silent, cooled by the black blood that drenched it. On his face the expression of pure rage had frozen in place, twisting and stretching it until it bore little resemblance to the calm, controlled man who had worked, loved, and fought in moments prior. Seeing the grim, warped visage, the black blade, and the gapping hole where there should have been a right eye made Lorkhan gape. At long last he recognized whom he gazed upon.

Markov the Nether-cursed threw his head back and laughed. It was a frantic, insane laugh, interrupted by sporadic chokes and sobs. He raised the Black Blade of Sin high above his head and the light that poured forth from the sun was drawn into the dark and sinister weapon. Living shadows leapt forth from the blade, expanding until it filled Lorkhan's vision, and the laughing slowly faded away.

The voice of Voidwrath replaced Markov's maniacal laughter and it spoke as if it took pride in what it said.

_Into that blade he poured all of his rage, his sorrow, and his hunger for revenge. And thus, I was born. I am vengeance incarnate! The last work of a broken man, cooled in the blood of those who had wronged him, and I would drink my fill before the day was done! Now do you understand?_

Lorkhan did not respond. He could not respond. His mind failed to gather the words needed to describe what he was thinking as past notions were shattered into a thousand pieces and a great swell of pity grew in their place. The young warrior could not help but feel sorry for his former foe, a loathsome creature that he had, until that moment, despised. He stood in silence for some time before Voidwrath spoke again.

_Your friends are trying to wake you. Farewell... for now._

The voice, like the laughter before it, faded from his mind, leaving him alone in the darkness.

"... probably the sword, my guess is that touching it caused this."

The voice sounded familiar. Though he could not see its source, the voice rung in his ears all the same.

"So why don't we smash it?"

Another voice, different, higher, though it too was familiar. The entire situation left Lorkhan with the strangest sense of déjà vu.

"It won't help if we destroy it now, the damage is already done."

"So what can we do?"

"Wait."

"That's it? Just sit and wait while he could be dying?"

"Yes. It's all we can do."

A pause, and then a stern answer.

"Nether with that."

Lorkhan's memories flooded back to him just in time for him to realize that pain was just around the corner. A sudden, sharp pain in his jaw banished the darkness from his vision. He was lying on the ground amidst the smoldering ruins of Telaar with Rhana and Obereth standing over him. The latter looked mildly amused while the former was rubbing her knuckles.

The orc sat up, propping himself up with one hand while the other rubbed his aching jaw. "Did you really have to do that?" It took the warrior a moment to realize that the pain in his right arm and shoulder was gone and chalked it up to Obereth's skills as a healer.

Rhana smiled innocently – an expression that sat altogether too well on her face for someone who could put as much force behind a punch as she could – and shrugged. "Worked last time. If it ain't broke..." She held out her hand and helped him to his feet.

**Garadar, Nagrand – That evening**

Lorkhan sat on a log around one of the many campfires that dotted Garadar. The combined armies of the Horde and the Mag'har celebrated their victory in the ruined fortress, though silently they dreaded the work ahead of them. Garadar would have to be rebuilt, and the Kurenai had made certain that the job would not be an easy one.

But for now, the warriors sang, drank, and generally relaxed. They had earned that much.

_Hello again, little one._

The young orc nearly spit out the ale he was drinking when the voice sliced into his mind. After collecting himself and making sure that Rhana and Obereth had not noticed how close he had come to jumping out of his seat, he whispered under his breath. "You again? But how–"

_How do I speak with you now? I'm not far. Look above the doorway to council chambers._

His eyes followed the voice's instructions and found, hanging above the door of the partially repaired council chambers, a curved, pitch-black sword. While he knew that the Mag'har had taken Voidwrath as a trophy, Lorkhan had not known that it had been mounted on display.

He glared at the sinister weapon. "What do you want?"

_Me? I'm bored. And I'm thirsty, though I doubt you would be willing to help me with the latter. As for the former, your anxiety is endlessly entertaining._

He involuntarily glanced at Rhana, who sat across the campfire from him. "I... don't know what you're talking about."

_Oh come now. Have you forgotten that I have peered into your very soul? Though it's not as if that was really necessary in this case. You are so transparent in your feelings for her. Obereth and Eldrath both saw it, and quite quickly at that._

Lorkhan nervously stole another glance at Rhana just in time to see her quickly look away from him. The elf stared down absently at the drink she held in her hands and rocked the mug back and forth. His brow furrowed, she had been acting strangely lately. Since they had spoken on Halaa, Rhana had never looked directly at him. She always looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and whenever he would meet her gaze she would quickly glance away. The warrior shifted restlessly. If she couldn't even bare to look at him, how could she understand how he felt?

"Do you think she knows?" he whispered.

_Of course not, she's been too busy trying to convince herself that she doesn't have feelings for you. You mortals are all the same._

He was so shocked by Voidwrath's statement that it took Lorkhan a few moments for his mind to register the insult that had been tacked on at the end. He shook his head and grumbled. "Leave me alone."

_Why should I? You were the one who slew my last master. I feel that I am obligated to... help you._

He quietly scoffed at the disgustingly disingenuous offer. "And how do you intend to 'help' me?"

_You have nothing to fear from me, without someone to wield me I am quite harmless. I merely intend to offer you some simple advice._

"What advice could a sword possibly offer me?"

_Nothing more than the obvious: That you should stop stealing glances at her like a nervous schoolboy and tell her how you feel. Bare your soul to her. You would be surprised at how many problems can be solved by a solid dose of the truth._

Once again Lorkhan nearly spit out the ale he was drinking. "Confess how I feel to her? Now? Are you insane? I couldn't tell her now."

_Why not? This is a victory celebration, everyone is overjoyed that the fighting is finally done and that they can rest at long last. There will never be a better time. And besides, you slew the dreaded Nether-cursed and saved her life in the process. You are the hero of the hour, the king of the moment, and I suggest you make the most out of that goodwill._

The orc stuttered, desperately trying to find an excuse not to do the one thing that terrified him above all else: Tell Rhana exactly how he felt. "But what if she doesn't..."

_By the Nether! Have you forgotten that I can read minds?! She feels the same way but, unlike you, she doesn't have a little voice in her head to tell her to act on those feelings. Which means, unfortunately for you, that you are going to have to make the first move._

Clenching his teeth, he tried to stand, but found that all the strength in his legs had abandoned him. "I– I can't."

_You can't? Why?! Are you afraid? You mean a warrior who's so calm in battle even his armor doesn't rattle faces a woman petrified with fright? You mean that the enormous clamoring that sounds like a blacksmith hammering is merely the banging of your knees?_

"Alright, I'll do it, just shut up." Again, he clenched his teeth and stood, though this time the rage that had built up while Voidwrath taunted him provided him with all the strength he needed to rise from his seat.

_Gladly._

In an instant the voice of Voidwrath vanished from his mind, leaving Lorkhan alone in his own head. He looked across the campfire to where Rhana sat. She wore on her face a confused expression, wondering why he had suddenly stood and silently gazed upon her. With a knowing smile and a nod, Obereth quickly and quietly excused himself, leaving the two in the company of nothing more than a very awkward silence. Summoning every last ounce of courage he possessed, Lorkhan slowly strode around the campfire and sat on the log next to Rhana. The two fidgeted nervously, both exceedingly uncomfortable with the knowledge that they were alone.

When he finally found the willpower to speak, it was in a nervous, faltering voice that did to befit the orc. "Rhana, I don't know how to say this. I am a warrior, not a poet, and words have never been my strong suit." He swallowed uneasily as he saw Rhana's face already begin to redden as he spoke. This was it, there was no turning back now. "Ever since I met you, I have been amazed by you. You're intelligent, funny, beautiful, and yet you don't lord it over others. When I needed aid, you fought alongside me. When I was miserable, you tried to comfort me. I have come to depend on you, and..."

He trailed off as he saw Rhana blush furiously at his words and look away. Without even stopping to consider the outright insanity of his actions, Lorkhan reached out and place a large, yet tender, hand on her cheek. He gently turned her face so that her glittering green eyes met his amber ones. The doubt and lack of confidence that had choked him vanished, and he spoke the three words with more conviction than he had ever thought he possessed.

"I love you."

Rhana bit her lip before she spoke. "Lorkhan, I-"

She suddenly stopped. Her emerald eyes widened and a short gasp escaped her mouth. Slowly, she looked down and her slender fingers tentatively curled around a curved spike of pure darkness that now protruded from her stomach. By the firelight, Lorkhan could see a deep red stain steadily expanding from where the blade jutted out of her body. Her eyes slowly drifted back to his and across her face flickered expressions of pain, sorrow, and sheer terror. The young orc could only stare back at her in shock, his face mirroring hers until Rhana suddenly and violently jerked forward as she was pushed forward off the black blade and into his embrace. He mouthed silent words of panic and horror as he looked down at the woman he cradled in his trembling arms, then out into the darkness.

A single, burning blue eye glared back at him. Markov the Nether-cursed threw his head back and laughed.


	11. Whirlwind

AN (11/4/07): I would just likely to quickly apologize for leaving all three of the people who actual bothered to read this far with such a vicious cliffhanger for so long. The fearsome beast known only as "Midterms" reared its ugly head and had to be slain. I actually considered putting this story on hiatus for a while, but I felt that doing so would be unbearably cruel. Also, as was mentioned in my note in the first chapter, I am attempting to slightly improve the earlier chapters in addition to working on the current ones (though in retrospect this chapter is not very good either). And now, without further ado, we return to our tale.

Chapter Eleven: Whirlwind

"_Why so silent good monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?" – The Phantom of the Opera_

**Garadar, Nagrand**

It was a cruel laugh. A pitiless, mocking laugh that would have offended even the most callous veteran or coldhearted ice queen. Lorkhan, however, could barely hear it. All the young warrior could hear was the faint, failing breathing of the woman he held in his arms. Shock paralyzed him, robbing him of the will to do anything but stare at the elf for whom he had confessed his love. Tears wound their way down his face as he slowly rocked her in his arms. The soft beating of Rhana's heart filled his ears, drowning out the Broken's grating voice, until a single, disturbingly familiar phrase sliced through the din.

Markov leaned forward and glared at the orc. "I think there's something in your eye." His tone twisted into a snarl as he practically spat the words, milking the irony for all it was worth. "Here, let me help."

A deep bellow from nearby finally managed to wrench Lorkhan's eyes from the woman in his arms. "Rhana!" Obereth, who had not gone far, rushed toward them, brilliant green light already emanating from his palms.

The Broken general's eye swiveled to center on the tauren. "I think not," he said with a smirk as he darted at Obereth and leapt into the air.

The two collided and, as they did, Voidwrath slid between the enormous shaman's ribs. He toppled over backward from the force of the Broken landing on him. Obereth hit the ground and Markov gave his sword a sharp twist, shredding the inside of the chest of the former. He ripped the blade out, eliciting a grunt of pain from his latest victim, and casually wiped the blood off on the fallen tauren's hide. The insane creature cackled like the madman he was and bounded off into the darkness. The voice of the Black Blade of Sin echoed in Lorkhan's mind, its laughter every bit as cruel as its master's.

_Well, little one, what are you going to do now? Are you just going to sit there and watch your friends die? Are you just going to let Him get away with this?_

Part of him almost leapt up to pursue the fleeing Broken, goaded on by the words of the cursed sword, but the knot in his heart weighed him down. He still clung to Rhana, as if trying desperately to keep her anchored to the world of the living.

A weak rasp from the ground drew the grieving warrior's gaze. "Lorkhan..." Obereth lay on the dirt, a long and vicious gash in his chest.

"Obereth, are you alright?"

The tauren managed to weakly smile and nod. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. " His smile faded into a face which bore more resemblance to a stone wall than the comforting visage that Lorkhan had come to know. "Just don't let Markov get away. Not again."

He glanced back down at Rhana. "But–"

Obereth quickly but only partially cogently cut him off. "I'll take care of her, the two of us have been in worse shape than this." When the warrior hesitated again, he shouted in a more forceful and coherent tone. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

Lorkhan reluctantly lay Rhana's dying body down and stood up. He stole one, final glance back at his companions before hurrying off into the night after his fleeing nemesis.

A small part of Obereth felt bad about lying to the concerned young orc, but the rest of him had bigger things to worry about. His mind struggled to remain focused, though his thoughts were already beginning to tumble out of control and it had become nearly impossible to string one to the next. Only one thing remained clear to him: Pain. An enormous hand slowly began working its way up his chest, following a trail of blood that stained his hide, until it found a massive rend in his flesh just to the left of his sternum. Markov's blade had bit deeply, and the tauren could feel his blood draining out of his body. He knew he would not last much longer.

The shaman managed to roll onto his side, and though his vision had begun to blur, he could see Rhana lying only a few feet away. She lay in a rapidly expanding pool of blood, and what little color she had was draining out of her skin. Fear tightened its grip on his punctured heart. The scene was all too familiar. Just as countless years before, one whom he loved was slipping from his grasp. He slowly reached out toward her, and began clawing at the dirt, trying desperately to drag his failing body toward Rhana. He could not feel his legs, and a terrifying cold was quickly enveloping his hands. His chest screamed in protest as he hauled himself to Rhana's side, though Obereth no longer cared for such trivial matters as mere pain.

As he looked down upon the body of the one he treasured, he could see that she would not last much longer either. Calling on the last of his strength, he held out his hands and let a swirling cloud of green energy flow from his very soul into the outstretched palms. As the raw, elemental power he wielded condensed in his hands, the shaman felt his own spirit fail. It took him only a moment to realize that he would not survive the process. However, he also knew that Rhana's time was running out, and if he delayed healing her long enough to mend his own wound, she would be beyond his help.

Any other being would have had to make a choice, whether to save his life or hers. For Obereth, however, there was no debate, no doubt, and certainly no choice. The emerald energy leapt from his palms and flowed across the gash in Rhana's stomach. As it washed over her, the energy sealed the rend shut. He could see the elf stir, and then lie still. Color began to wind its way back into her face and she breathed lightly, as if she were simply in a deep, pleasant sleep.

Obereth tried to smile, but discovered that he could not. The massive tauren soon found that his muscles did not respond to his mind's sluggish commands, and he could not remain sitting up. He collapsed onto his back, staring up at the night sky. The stars began to run together as a haze crept in from the corners of his vision. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, the air rushing in and out of his failing lungs created a horrendous roar that pounded in his skull.

As he stared up at the soup of a sky above him he could see a shape beginning to form out of the starlight. Even as his eyes failed him, the shape slowly came into focus. Her hide was a soft chestnut color and she wore a simple linen dress. Obereth's punctured heart sputtered as he recognized her face. A smile played across her lips and her eyes radiated intoxicating warmth that he drank in as he had long ago. He gazed longingly upon the woman who had captured and tamed his wild young heart with her calm compassion and irresistible strength of will. Cold tears poured from the shaman's eyes. Was fate so cruel as to finally show him the one he had yearned for only moments before his death?

In her hands he could see she held a small bundle of cloth. Wrapped in it was a sleeping infant, the child she had given her life to bring into the world. It was the tiny girl that he had cherished in those lonely years, the one thing, the only thing that had kept the distraught and grieving tauren from following his beloved. As Obereth gazed at the child he could see her grow before his eyes and quickly become the adventurous youth that her aging father had jokingly blamed his grey hairs on. The entire world had been a single, wondrous adventure for her, and her energy and enthusiasm had breathed new life into the shaman's hollow soul. As the girl continued to grow, he recognized the strong-willed young woman who had simultaneously been the source of all his joy and frustration. Her wild spirit had been impossible to control, a trait that Obereth had been both proud of and enraged by, depending on the occasion. Finally, he beheld the calm, confident, and compassionate warrior that he had been convinced was the reincarnation of her mother.

And then the Legion came and took her from him. All of his training, all of his skill, all his experience had been meaningless. He had failed her. He failed them both.

Obereth desperately tried to reach out to them, to embrace them one last time, but his strength failed him and his arms remained at his sides. Darkness closed in around him. He felt cold, and then nothing at all.

Lorkhan dashed through the ruins of Garadar, chasing after the shadow that leapt from rooftop to rooftop. All the while, the voice of Voidwrath cackled in his head.

_I can't believe you actually listened to me! You're such a sap!_

He snarled and shook his head, trying to banish the mocking voice. "Shut up!"

"Well, well. It looks like someone has a little voice in his head." The young warrior stopped as the honeyed words drifted past his ears. He looked up and, despite the darkness, spotted his quarry standing atop the roof of the building before him. "You should know better than to trust the devil on your shoulder Lorkhan."

It occurred to the orc that Markov had no reason to know exactly who he was. "How do you know my name?"

The Broken general flashed a wide, insane grin that showed off his crooked fangs. He lovingly stroked the Black Blade of Sin. "Voidwrath told me. This little setup was actually his idea."

A deluge of questions shot through his head, but each and every one shared a common beginning. "Why?"

_Why? Why did I convince you to tell Rhana you loved her? It's quite simple. Being a villain is like being a playwright, you need to have a sense of dramatic timing. What better time to kill the one you love than the very moment you confess your feelings to her? And the best part is that you'll never know if she really did have feelings for you or if I was simply lying about that too. Now you can truly understand the pain that He felt. The pain that we feel._

"When you picked up Voidwrath, I was given a glimpse into your soul." Markov looked down at Lorkhan with a wide eye and an aggrieved expression on his face, one that befitted an innocent child more than the bitter general. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? To see the feelings that you so blatantly and shamelessly bear for her, after my own love was taken from me by your kind? It was torture beyond anything even the most vengeful deity or malevolent demon could devise." The heart-wrenching look slowly twisted into a mask of pure, undiluted hatred. "You taunted me with what you had, with what I had lost, and now I shall make you pay for that. You and the rest of your disgusting race shall, at long last, understand the agony I must bear every waking moment." The words were hissed through clenched teeth, and the once honeyed tone had vanished, replaced by equal parts wrath and accusation. "What goes around."

Lorkhan was at a loss for words. As Markov spoke, realization slowly crept its way into his mind. "The vision I saw on Telaar." His thoughts were suddenly aligned, each of his enemy's actions finally made sense when before he had seen nothing but mindless malice.

"The day Karabor fell." The Broken trembled with rage as he spoke, though sorrow was steadily slipping back into his voice. "The day your kind began their bloodlust fueled quest to wipe my people off the face of Draenor." The misery that the warped creature felt finally overpowered its rage. The burning blue eye flickered wildly as tears threatened to roll down his face. "The day a coward took my wife from me."

The fury that Lorkhan felt was shouldered aside as a swell of pity grew in its place. "How long has it been since she died?"

"Fifty-three years, two months, and eighteen days." The response was automatic, without doubt or hesitation. "Enough talk."

Markov wiped all the traces of emotion from his face, brutally quashing all the anguish that he had allowed to bleed through, and tossed a large object down off the roof. It landed at Lorkhan's feet and lodged itself into the ground. It took a moment for the orc to realize what he had been given. It was a sword, a large two-handed one like his zweihander, though of significantly better quality. The Broken leapt down from the rooftop and landed a dozen yards away from the young orc. He brandished the Black Blade of Sin at Lorkhan.

"We will settle this once and for all."

His eyes darted from Markov, to the sword, and then back to the hideous general. "Why are you giving this to me?"

He looked taken aback by the question, though with such a repulsive face it was difficult to tell. "My victory would be meaningless if I killed you in anything but an even fight." He motioned toward the sword. "It was one of my best works."

The warrior glanced at the sword once again, and slowly realized where he had seen it before. He had last seen it in the hands of man who had been, all at once, frighteningly different and yet the same as the Broken who stood before him. The Markov of years past had wielded the sword with extraordinary skill, grace, and, above all else, control. He found it hard to believe that the lunatic who glared back at him had once been that man, though here stood proof of that, lodged in the ground at his feet.

The sides of the Broken's mouth curled upward as he saw recognition flicker across Lorkhan's face. "I managed to recover it from the ruins many years after the fall of Karabor. If you were paying attention in any of our previous fights you would have noticed that Voidwrath is fast enough to easily slip past your guard when you wield that oversized paddle of yours."

He looked back toward Markov. His head still swam with questions, though the most pressing of them was the one that managed to leave his mouth. "Then why not use that to your advantage and kill me?"

The Broken looked horrified by the very idea. "That would be dreadfully anti-climactic."

The rage Lorkhan felt returned in full force, trampling his pity into dirt. "Is that all this is to you?" The orc's fingers curled around the handle of the sword. "Some kind of sick story?"

He ripped the blade from where it stuck out of the ground and leveled it at his nemesis. It was heavy, but so well balanced that it felt much lighter than his zweihander. The increased weight would allow him to put a considerable amount of power behind each swing, yet at the same time it was much easier to wield. It was, in all respects, superior to the zweihander.

Markov grinned malevolently back at him as the two combatants slowly began circling each other. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time plays many parts."

The orc's eyes narrowed at the now disturbingly nonchalant Broken. "And what part do you play?"

"Me?" He shrugged casually and spoke with a hint of pride. "I'm the bad guy."

"So would that make me the hero?"

He paused for a moment as he thought. The Broken nodded his deformed, tentacled head, content with the idea. "Yes, I suppose it would."

"Then, by your own logic, you cannot win." The warrior and the general continued to circle each other, both tightening their grips on their swords in anticipation. "In the end, the hero always prevails."

"Not true." A small smile crept across his unsightly face. "You see, there are two kinds of plays: Tragedies and comedies. A comedy generally ends with a marriage while a tragedy ends with death. Life ends the latter way." Markov's grin faded into a more controlled, impassive expression. He spoke in an almost matter-of-fact tone. "This mortal existence is a tragedy, an excruciating nightmare and nothing more. So, in reality, you are the one who cannot win."

The calm veneer that he wore when speaking was replaced by a mask of rage, one even more hideous than the Broken's already repulsive face.

"Now, die orc filth!"

He surged forward, barely skimming along the ground as he went, and held Voidwrath pointed slightly downward. Just before Markov collided with the younger warrior he whipped the blade upward, bringing the pitch-black tip up in a curve toward the orc's chest. The move was blindingly fast, though Lorkhan managed to bat the sword aside as the Broken general sailed toward him. Not missing a beat, Markov took another step forward, putting him inside the reach of each of their swords. His hooves touched the dirt for mere moments as they pushed off the ground and he lunged. His mutated shoulder rammed into the young orc's chest, slamming into him with the force of a bull Clefthoof. Lorkhan stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him and barely staying on his feet.

Markov, however, did not relent and swung Voidwrath around from the side in a wide arc. Though the young orc was able to block the slash, when he did his nemesis snapped Voidwrath back and struck from a different angle before he could even hope to counter. Worse yet, each of the Broken's attacks was punctuated by a few choice words from the Black Blade of Sin itself.

_He is right. You cannot win. We cannot be killed, not while the fire of our hatred burns so strongly. Die. Die! DIE!_

Hearing the voice of the sword as he blocked each of its attempts to disembowel him unnerved him to no end. Its insane cries and rants only served to put him even further on the defensive. He snarled as he darted backward, dodging out of the way of an upward slice. "Be quiet!" The younger warrior sidestepped a stab from the Nether-cursed, Voidwrath's pitch-black tip missing him by mere inches. Before he could try and exploit the opening, however, Markov whipped his sword around and slashed diagonally downward. The malevolent sword laughed at his frustration.

_No. This torment is only the beginning. You will suffer, your entire wretched race will suffer for what they have done._

As the blow fell, Lorkhan slid the blade of Markov's former sword beneath his current one, guiding it off to the side. He forced Voidwrath down until its tip was lodged into the ground. The two combatants stood shoulder to shoulder, their swords crossed downward. As they struggled, the Broken general to free his blade and the orc warrior to keep it pinned, the former grinned and cackled with glee, mirroring the voice of his sword.

The expression on his repulsive face was nothing short of pure, undiluted madness. Lorkhan gapped at his enemy. "You're insane!"

The Nether-cursed's smile vanished and loosed an enraged snarl as he tried to wrench his sword free. "Of course I am! After losing her, anyone with a soul would be!" He tilted his deformed head back and, with a sudden jerk, smashed his gnarled forehead into Lorkhan's nose.

An instant later the Broken's elbow shot up and delivered a sharp jab to the orc's ribs, followed by a fast backhand to the jaw. The young warrior staggered backward, blood streaming from his smashed nose. One of Markov's hooves slammed into the side of his legs, knocking them out from beneath him. The sword he had been given slipped from his grasp and he clattered to the ground. He propped himself up on his elbows, about to stand, but found the Black Blade of Sin pressed lightly against his throat. Lorkhan's eyes darted from the cursed sword to his own, which lay tantalizingly out of reach.

"It is over." Markov's twisted grin returned. "Your kind have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."

A slender wooden shaft flew whistling out of the night and imbedded itself in his right shoulder. The Broken grunted in surprise and pain, backing away from where Lorkhan lay. A second arrow sailed out of the darkness, though this one was knocked aside by the flat of Voidwrath. Lorkhan peered off in the direction the arrows had come from, and beheld a sight that made his heart practically leap from his chest. Rhana notched a third arrow and launched it at Markov, who darted out of the way and dashed toward her. Lorkhan, however, scrambled to his feet and tackled the Broken general to the ground before he could get anywhere near the elf. By the time Markov managed to get to his feet, Lorkhan had dashed to and snatched up the sword the former had given him.

The burning blue eye of the Broken glanced at Rhana before it swung back toward Lorkhan. "You will not always have your wench to protect you." He slowly backed away from the two and flashed a mirthless smile. "We will finish this another time."

The orc edged toward the Broken, weapon at the ready. "There's nowhere left for you to run to." He was in the heart of a fortress crawling with Mag'har and Horde warriors, how could he possibly think that he could slip away again?

Markov chuckled. "On the contrary, there is always somewhere for me to run to. Even before the fall of Telaar I had others lined up to replace the Kurenai." He motioned to the night around him. "Listen, do you hear that?"

In the silence that followed, Lorkhan could indeed here sounds drifting through the night air, ones he had ignored while focused on Markov. Enraged shouts and the ring of clashing steel floated in from all across Garadar. It was the sound of a battle, and a large, hectic one at that. A frustrated growl issued from the orc's throat as he mentally berated himself for not realizing earlier that Markov would never have come here alone. Of course the coward had brought others with him, and the Mag'har were now occupied dealing with them.

The angered warrior glared at the Broken. "And who have you duped into doing your dirty work this time?"

"The Murkblood, among others. You'd be surprised how many factions in Outland would jump at the chance to help me take my revenge. While you have been busy with me and the paltry force here, the main contingent of my warriors has been happily butchering the inhabitants of Sunspring Post." The Broken general grinned at the expression of shock and horror that flickered across Lorkhan's face. "What, you thought I had forgotten about that quaint little village? Did you honestly think I could pass up the opportunity to stamp out even more of your kind?"

The orc gaped. "Why?!" Markov's almost offhand attitude while commenting on the wholesale slaughter of civilians was appalling. "They were defenseless! They were innocent!"

The crooked grin twisted into a malicious sneer. "None of your disgusting race is innocent. Not after what they did." One of Markov's gnarled hands crept down from Voidwrath's handle and plucked a whirling bundle of gears and wires from a pouch on his belt. "What goes around."

To late did Lorkhan recognize the device the Broken held. A deformed thumb pressed a red button on the side of the detonator. A chain of thunderous explosions ripped through Garadar, momentarily banishing the night in blinding gout of flame. The ground beneath them rocked and trembled in protest and a blast of hot air and debris blew Lorkhan of his feet, sending him crashing face down into the dirt.

He looked up, blood trickling down from where he had cracked his nose against the ground. Markov, outlined against the flames, mockingly saluted them. "And on that note, farewell." As the last word left his mouth, his body swirled like water running down a drain. With a resounding gong, the Broken was sucked into a tiny hole in the very fabric of reality, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Though he was not an expert in the field of magic, Lorkhan knew the result of a warlock's summoning ritual when he saw it. In the near silence that followed, broken only by the crackling of flames, something gnawed at the back of Lorkhan's mind. Something was missing. Someone was missing.

"Rhana, where's Obereth?"

The elf said nothing, though the despondent look on her face told him all he needed to know. He cursed the world, he cursed Markov, but above all else he cursed himself. Once again The Nether-cursed had claimed one of those close to him and, once again, the depraved creature had slipped away. When his rage finally ebbed, it left in its wake a terrible void. A gaping wound which none of his other feelings would even attempt to heal, for fear of the fury that had left it. The sheer emptiness tainted his memories of the wise old shaman with sorrow. No longer could he fondly recall Obereth's words of wisdom and comfort, they were far to infected by the memory of his failure to bring anything but abject misery.

_Do you see, little one? Of course you don't, you never will. Your kind never will._

The voice filled his head, drowning out all other thoughts. Pain accompanied it and overwhelmed his senses. It felt as though a dozen flaming daggers had been rammed into his skull, setting his mind alight his agony. He sank to his knees, clutching his head and howling from the all-consuming pain.

In an instant, Rhana was at his side. "Lorkhan, are you alright?" Her slender hands concealed a surprising amount of strength and she managed to support him, preventing him from completely collapsing under the pain. He managed to lift his head to look upon her face. Through all of the pain that lanced through his brain, he could clearly make out the expression of terror painted on her face. Seeing that alone was a far greater agony than anything that Voidwrath could inflict directly. The voice of the sword whispered mocking words in his ears.

_Oh, look at her. Look at the concern in her eyes. A pity your pathetic species cannot muster such tender feelings. You might have had something together if you had been anything but an orc. You will never be able to return her love. The two of you are doomed._

"No! Get out of my head!" He bellowed and his fingers dug into his scalp as he clawed vainly to tear the voice from his mind. The pain was so intense that Lorkhan thought his skull would split open. "Get out!" The Black Blade of Sin merely laughed at him.

_What? You think you can just cast out one such as me on a whim? Foolish child. You don't understand just how easily I can control you. You are my puppet. Now, little one, there's something very important that I want you to do._

His arms dropped from where they gripped his head, though not by any effort on Lorkhan's part. He felt his body slowly straighten up, as if it had a will of its own. His limbs refused to obey the commands of his panicking mind and from his own little corner in his skull, he saw as his eyes swiveled to look into Rhana's emerald ones.

_Kill her._

The warrior watched helplessly as his hands shot up and curled around her slender neck. Her glowing green eyes widened in shock and horror as the orc's fingers tightened around her throat. He screamed and struggled in the confines of his mind, trying desperately to stop his hands from wringing the life out the very woman he had confessed his love for.

Rhana, however, was anything but defenseless. She twined her arms around Lorkhan's and lifted herself off the ground. Planting her feet on his face, she pushed off, sending herself sailing through the air out of his clutches. The farstrider righted herself in midair and landed on her feet with grace that even the most agile cat would envy.

"Lorkhan, what in the Nether are you doing?!" Her face and voice were tainted by horror and desperation. Lorkhan's mind tried in vain to cry out apologies and pleas for forgiveness, but his lips merely pulled back to flash a malevolent grin.

He felt his jaw begin to move of its own accord, and the words that rolled off his tongue were far too hollow and gravelly to be his own. "I'm sorry, he's not here right now. Can I take a message?" The orc's body lurched forward and charged toward her.

As he barreled toward her, Rhana darted to the side and guided him over one of her outstretched legs. His momentum carried him in an arc downward and he slammed into the ground. In an instant, a slender arm coiled around his neck and tightened to painful extremes, squeezing shut every vessel that ran through it. Lorkhan's body thrashed about, trying to throw the elf off, but she held fast. Darkness slowly crept inward from the corners of his vision until it completely consumed him. Deafening silence filled his ears for what seemed like an eternity until it was finally broken by the irritated voice of the Black Blade of Sin.

_Hmmm... Well that didn't go as planned._

In his mind, the warrior smiled at the sword's annoyance. "Don't expect any sympathy from me." Under normal circumstances he would have been embarrassed by the fact that Rhana had been able to mop the floor with him, but in this case it brought him relief, joy, and no small amount of amusement.

"Lorkhan! Lorkhan, can you hear me?" The voice cut through the suffocating blanket of darkness like the first rays of the sun.

He knew the voice and, though the last time it had reached out to him while he was drowning in the void he had received a rather vicious punch to the jaw, he was overjoyed to hear it.

"Rhana!"

He spun about, trying to find where her voice was coming from. What he heard, instead, was the hollow laughter of Voidwrath echoing through the blackness, mocking their attempts to speak with one another.

_Meddlesome wench, this is my realm. You are powerless here._

The sword's laughter was quickly overpowered by a deep, mighty, and obviously orcish voice. "She may be, but I most certainly am not." It was calm and confident, and when it reverberated throughout the warrior's mind the Black Blade of Sin immediately stopped laughing. When the sword managed to speak, it was shocked, angered, and, much to Lorkhan's delight, afraid.

_What?! You!_

The young orc could easily imagine the voice's owner wearing a mischievous grin as it spoke. "Hello Voidwrath."

_Damn you! Didn't you learn your lesson when we took your eye?_

The deep orcish voice chuckled at the sword's indignation. "Actually, I did. I learned that for all your boasting, you are merely a voice." Lorkhan heard a low hum and soft chant slowly building in the background. "And as such, you can be gagged."

As the background noise steadily grew louder it began to drown out even the Black Blade of Sin. It howled with rage, trying desperately to be heard over the din.

_This is not the end! You shall all suffer dearly for this!_

When the deep voice spoke again, the humming, chanting, and threats died down to nothing. "Run back to your master. Tell him that this time we're going to make sure he stays dead." The words faded into nothing and once again Lorkhan was left alone in the void. Well after the voices in his head had vanished, the warrior slowly began to feel again. The darkness that clouded his vision slowly ebbed, and his senses gradually began reporting in again.

He sat bolt upright, nearly smashing his head into Rhana's, who was kneeling beside him. The young orc glanced down at his hands, which were, once again, under his own control. He clenched and unclenched them experimentally, and was relieved to see them respond to his commands. His eyes darted about, taking in his surroundings. The flames started by Markov's explosives had died down, and the sounds of battle had since disappeared. Rhana smiled down at him, as did an orc whom he instantly recognized.

He looked up at Jorin Deadeye, who, despite the fact that he was down on one knee, was still noticeably taller than Lorkhan. "We need to go to Sunspring."

"Sunspring?" The older orc looked perplexed. "Why?"

Lorkhan quickly rose to his feet. "Markov had the Murkblood attack the village while we were busy here. If we go now we might be able to save some of the people there."

The one-eyed orc curtly nodded. "Go to the armory and get some gear, I'll round up a battalion to go with you." He took a few steps back, bowed, then turned and hurried off without waiting for either Lorkhan or Rhana to return the bow.

The former turned toward the latter, only to see her briskly, suspiciously so in fact, walking off in the direction of the armory. He hurried to catch up with her. Too many things had been said and were as of yet unsaid to simply leave it all hanging. The young orc knew, and dreaded the fact, that they would have to sort it all out if they were to go into battle together.

"Rhana I-"

She spun to face him as he neared her, a cold, impassive expression that masked any feelings she might have had. She cut him off harshly, holding up a single finger to silence him. "No, Lorkhan, stop." Rhana's eyes and voice softened as she saw the dejected look that crept across the orc's face. "I'm sorry, but right now it doesn't matter what feelings either of us may or may not have." She hastily shook her head. "Until all of this is over, it would be best for both of us to focus on the task at hand."

Lorkhan nodded solemnly, though he secretly allowed hope to tentatively creep back into his heart. "I understand."

The elf looked momentarily startled by his words. "You do?" The surprise in her voice hinted that sober acceptance was not the reaction that she had expected.

Again, he nodded. "Yes."

After a few seconds of mild astonishment, Rhana wiped the look off her face, replacing it once again with a stony expression. This time, however, the mask was not nearly as convincing. "It's just that, at this point, emotions would get in the way. They could cloud our judgment and prevent us from doing what needed to be done." She spoke methodically, though she sounded markedly unsure of the words that left her mouth and at no point looked Lorkhan in the eyes.

One of the orc's eyebrows slowly rose. "You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself." He had to summon up an enormous amount of willpower to keep himself from smiling like an idiot.

She glared back at him and she her tone shifted to a defensive one. "Well, when you thought I was going to die, how did you feel?"

He honestly and almost automatically answered, speaking with conviction that surprised even him. "It was the most painful experience of my life." Even as each syllable rolled off his tongue, a part of his mind screamed for him to stop, howling that he was delving into dangerously sincere territory.

Rhana quickly looked down and away, though Lorkhan could see a slight tinge of red creeping into her cheeks. "You're not helping."

"Sorry." He smiled sheepishly and allowed the hope in his heart to swell further.

She rounded on him, false frustration painted on her face. "And stop being so damn agreeable!"

"Fine." He paused for a moment as he realized what exactly had been asked of him, and quickly amended his answer. "No." In retrospect, he thought, that answer was equally poor. "How am I supposed to respond to that?" His smile grew into a grin when he heard her chuckle softly. The chuckling, however, soon degenerated into weak, dry sobs. Rhana hung her head, her deep brown locks hiding her face from view like a dark curtain. Confusion and panic gripped the young warrior. What had he done? Was it something he had said? The remark had seemed innocent enough, in fact it was the kind of thing she probably frequently got from–

From Obereth.

His heart dropped into his stomach as his mind made the connection. Tentatively, Lorkhan leaned in and gently placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, wishing desperately to undue the damage he had caused. "Don't worry. We'll make Markov pay for what he's done."

She laughed mirthlessly at the promise, though she remained despondent. "How many times have we said that?"

Lorkhan reached out and took one of her slender hands in a heavy, calloused one. "Too many." Rhana glanced down at the hand, slightly startled, then up into his eyes. He gazed back into hers with complete sincerity and certainty. "But this will be the last." Ever so slowly, a shy smile spread across the elf's face and her fingers curled around his hand, tightening their grip.

**The Spirit Fields, Nagrand**

On the windswept plains, in the shadow of the massive diamond Oshu'gun, a hunched figure stood staring at the glimmering white mountain. He smiled a crooked grin as he felt a familiar presence settle into the back of his twisted mind and when he finally spoke it was to the empty air.

"Did they take the bait?"

A sinister voice that only he could hear chuckled in response.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

"Excellent." The figure's smile faded and his gaze drifted upward to the stars. A solitary tear trickled down his malformed face and he whispered so softly that the wind threatened to drown him out completely. "Just a little longer Anya. Wait for me just a little longer, I'm almost finished here."


End file.
